Tattered
by Shadow Dancer666
Summary: Wammy's House, a place full of gifted misfits with horrible pasts. The goal is to produce the next L, but at what cost? Take a peek into the lives before, during, and after Wammy's House. M for swearing, sex, violence, drug use, & other disturbing things.
1. Opening

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of it's characters.**

**Please review!**

The cold brutal wind shook the sad building, threatening to knock it over effortlessly. Large green eyes peeked in fear from under an old chair that had been draped with material to make it look a little fancier.

"What are you cowering for?" an older woman snorted as she continued to apply thick make-up to a woman much younger. "Scared of the cold?" she cackled.

The child shook his head, the blond hair brushing his forehead softly. If anything, that old hag scared him far worse than any wind could. She was the most successful Madame in the business and she was not one to be kind or have an especially soft heart. She only allowed this illegitimate child stay in the brothel because he belonged to her best whore, but she was constantly found teasing the boy and telling him scary stories which included the fact that she ate children for breakfast when they were naughty.

"Mihael," the younger woman called softly, the Slovene words slipping past her lips softly. "Come here to Mama."

Looking around, the boy crawled out from under the chair and ran to his mother's side immediately. The blond woman patted his head fondly and pulled him on to her lap. He rested back against her bosom already feeling a lot safer. The old lady's cigarette breath made the boy wrinkle his nose in disgust, but he was already used to such things.

"Jelka, you spoil him far too much!" the old woman grumbled as she finished the last touches. "How is he supposed to grow balls if you keep protecting him like that?"

"He'll be just fine," his mother insisted as she kissed the top of his head fondly. "He's going to be one of the smart men."

The Madame laughed at that, but she didn't say much else about it.

"Get your Mama's protection, boy," she commanded as she helped Jelka into a revealing dress covered by furs to protect her from the cold.

Mihael jumped off his mother's lap and brought the last of the condoms that his mother had. He examined the packaging thoughtfully before it was pulled out of his hand by his mother. She looked almost guilty for exposing her child to such crudity at his age but she didn't have a choice. His worthless father had promised to take her away from this life and on the eve before their departure, with her eight full months along, he had gotten himself killed in a bar fight. Because he had been too stupid she was now suffering and had to continue what she was good at just to feed her child.

"He looks so much like his Mama," the Madame sneered as she ruffled his fine hair. "It would be a shame not to sell him off to the other brothels or use him in my own."

"Please no more talk of that," his mother asked sadly as she looked at her innocent son. "Mihael will be far better than his Mama ever was and will grow up to be a proper man."

The Madame cackled loudly with a few coughs interrupting it. "He's got too much of you in him, dear. He couldn't ever be a proper man even if he tried."

Jelka picked up her child and held him close as if she could protect him from the world and from everyone in it. He was her precious star, her hope for giving her family's name another chance at honor. Mihael was not like all the other stupid children, and she knew deep in her heart that he belonged somewhere else. Somewhere that would teach him to be smart and would keep him warm and full of food.

Her precious child had learned to speak so incredibly fast and he had even begun reading things that she could not by four. His large eyes were constantly trying to soak in all the information that the world could offer and she was afraid that if he stayed in the brothels too long that he would never have a chance for anything better.

"You'll be good for Mama, won't you Mihael?" she asked only to be rewarded with a sleepy nod.

"Brat, read this for us," the older woman commanded gruffly, holding out a magazine clipping that was written in English.

Even though she had plenty of bad things to say to and about the child, even the Madame could not deny the kid's intelligence. He had learned to read and speak English just from reading some old torn books that she had lying around the brothel. National Geographic had never been her thing, especially with all those fancy words, but that child had soaked it up like a piece of cloth. Now she used his skills to her advantage. Mihael rubbed his eyes before looking at the crumbled paper.

"Quillsh Wammy, famous inventor and owner of many orphanages, will be in Ljubljana on Friday night to tour the most wonderful city-"

"Ah, that's enough. Nothing important."

The woman crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash before the child could even finish translating it for them.

"Thank you, Mihael," his mother whispered into his ear before setting him down. "Now go to bed a be a good boy."

Yawning, he nodded and crawled into the single bed that he had shared with his mother since he was born. The mean old lady ruffled his hair roughly before popping another cigarette into her mouth. Both women left the room, locking it behind them to keep the child safe from robbers. A few minutes of silence passed before the boy slipped out of bed and uncrumpled the paper happily. He crawled up to the windowsill and by the flickering streetlight, he read about the famous inventor.

"Wammy, what a funny name!"

He laughed happily before he pulled himself up in front of his mother's broken vanity. Looking in the cracked mirror, he noticed just how much he looked like his beloved mother. He had her pale skin, soft lips, and even her blond hair. The only difference was the green eyes and his longer hair. It had been quite a while since either the Madame or his mother had time to cut it, so he decided that he could do it himself. Carefully pulling the heavy instrument out of the drawer, he pulled a lock of hair away from his face and snipped it off. With another glance at the mirror, he smiled and continued to cut the hair one snip at a time. Since it was hard for his small hands to use, cutting his hair took longer than he had anticipated, but when he finished, he was proud of himself. There, now he looked just like Mama did. No higher honor could he think of than making himself look like the most beautiful and nicest woman in the world.

Content, he slipped back under the thin covers and cuddled against the stained pillow. He wanted to stay up and wait for his mother to come back home, but he knew from experience that he couldn't stay awake that long. However, every morning he would wake up to have his mother bringing breakfast to him. Smiling to himself, the child fell into the happy world of dreams.

Several hours later, a loud crash made Mihael jerk awake. Looking around, he watched as the door burst open and his mother collapse inside with the pale white snow blowing in around her. Not knowing what was wrong, he jumped out of the bed and ran straight to his mother.

"Mama? What happened?!"

Hearing his panicked voice gave the young woman another surge of strength. She pushed herself off of the floor and picked up the squirming child. Blood ran down her face and between her legs as she forced herself to head towards uptown.

"Mama, you didn't close the door!" Mihael whined still scared and confused. "Madame gets mad when the door isn't closed."

"Don't worry, Mama will handle that," she comforted as she carried her small child.

He wasn't dressed for this weather and she knew that she would have to get him safe soon. Sounds of shouting men in the distance behind her made her gasp and clutch her precious gem closer to her body. Mihael could clearly hear her racing heart and he wisely remained quiet. Soon his mother was running with every ounce of strength left in her body. People laughed and cheered within the warm buildings as the mother ran in the uncaring snow, heading for the only hope her little boy had.

A fancy hotel burst into sight as Jelka rounded the corner of the street and Mihael could only gape in fascination. He had never seen such a magnificent place in his entire life, with lights shining clearly against the black sky and so many cars surrounding it. The stubborn woman continued running towards the building, completely ignoring her body's need for rest. It would all be over soon.

There was a giant party going on in the building and that's where that famous man was. She just had to get her son to him, just had to let that man see how smart her boy was and then it could be all over. Her son shivered from the cold, but his amazement with the building kept his thoughts off of the discomfort. It wasn't very long before he could actually look in the building and gape at all the people inside. They were dressed so fancily and…food. The boy's eyes widened as he saw the giant tables overflowing with all kinds of food. Specifically the table that had a fountain with warm chocolate bubbling over happily.

"Chocolate!" he exclaimed eagerly to his mother.

It wasn't uncommon for his mother's customers to buy her chocolates and other candies, but she had always given them to her wide-eyed child. He had loved chocolate so much that he had foolishly promised her that when he grew up he would eat nothing but chocolate. However, now something like that didn't seem to matter. Setting him down in the snow next to the glass door, she tried opening it. Unfortunately, it seemed to be locked. Desperation clawed at her and she began banging at the door to get any kind of attention.

"Please!" she cried out, her own blood smearing across the smooth surface. "Please open the door! Somebody!"

Mihael held himself as he shivered as he curled his bare toes in the snow, hoping that someone would let them inside. A few people inside saw them and the boy perked up thinking that they were finally going to get inside the warm building but he was disappointed when they just stood there whispering to each other. Why weren't they opening the door?

A strange man's shouts from around the corner made both the child and his mother look to see three young men running towards them. Jelka gave her baby once last glance before running off away from him. The men paused for only a second before running after her and leaving the child alone. Mihael stared as his mother rounded the corner with three men after her and he didn't even notice when someone opened the door and tried to ask him what was going on. A piercing woman's scream echoed the night, forever imprinting itself onto the boy's mind before it all went silent.

Someone's hands had pulled the child up and into the warm room and a deep older voice was commanding people to call the police, but the boy didn't notice any of this. He could see nothing but his mother running away from him. The same woman who had loved him and cared for him, who had played with him and spanked him, it was her back that he saw fading in the distance.

"Mama!" he screamed desperately with tears beginning to run down his face. "Mama don't leave me!"

"There, there," the deep voice comforted as he forced Mihael to look into his elderly face. "The police are going to take care of your Mama, but you need to warm up. My name is Quillsh, so how about we be friends?"

"Quillsh Wammy," the boy sobbed in English, remembering the article he had read. "That's a funny name…"

"Why yes it is," the old man chuckled, wiping away the child's tears. "Don't worry, your mother will be ok, so how about you tell me your name?"

"M-mihael," he replied. "Mihael Keehl."


	2. Oops

**Well, I have pondered over the fact that Mello knew so much more personal information about L and seemingly about everything at Wammy's House than either Near or Matt. Add to the fact that he is older than the both of them and that brings an interesting concept to my mind. Thus, this chapter. It begins the explanation of why Mello was so close with L and knew so much more. Yes, he's just cool that way.**

Darkness and warmth surrounded the small boy but it brought no comfort. Although he was in a room so exquisite and fancy, it all seemed to pass over his mind. They couldn't find his mother. His mother was gone. Nothing but those thoughts raced through his mind, and he grew steadily more miserable. The nice old man tried everything he could to take the boy's mind off such dreadful thoughts, but nothing worked.

"Mihael, are you hungry?" Mr. Wammy asked gently as he carried a tray with steaming breakfast on it.

The blond child shook his head slowly as he continued to stare at the golden wallpaper. The British gentleman sighed and set the food close to the boy in hopes that smelling the delicious food would tempt him into taking some kind of nourishment. Unfortunately, he had not yet learned of this boy's stubbornness. His mama knew all about that though.

"Did you find Mama?" he asked in Slovene before pausing and translating it into English.

Mr. Wammy sat down on the floor next to the child still managing to look dignified with his suit and tie.

"I'm sorry, but the police can't find any trace of her."

Some would be surprised by the old man's frankness, but Mr. Wammy was never one to try to lie to a child even if it was for comfort. How could a child learn to handle situations if you were always babying them? How could they grow?

"Mihael, the police want to take you to a public orphanage not far from here. However, I would like to take you to my own special orphanage in England. Over there I will teach you everything that you could possibly want to learn. You will also have a soft bed and warm food everyday."

Those green eyes finally tore away from the patterned wall and looked towards the bespectacled man. Being an intelligent boy, he picked up on what Mr. Wammy was saying without words. Mama wasn't going to be coming back for him. He was all alone. To be honest, the thought of a place beyond this city scared him just as much as it intrigued him. Those nice magazines that the Madame kept in the brothel had shown pictures of all kinds of places and he had always dreamed of seeing them all, but could he go now? What if Mama did come back to get him and he was gone?

"No, Mama will miss me."

Nodding his head, the kind old man patted the boy's head softly.

"I will respect your decision."

Decision. It was such a heavy word on the boy's young ears. This man spoke to him far different than everyone else had. Of course, Mama was one of the few who spoke to him at all, but this was on a different level. He was speaking to Mihael as if he were a full grown adult and not a child, as if he was the one responsible for his own fate. His mother had always taken care of decisions, but now she wasn't here.

"Quillsh?"

The gentleman stopped before he touched the doorknob.

"Yes, Mihael?"

"Can you make me a proper man?" he asked softly, remembering the words that his mother had prayed so often.

"Make you a proper man? Well, I have never been able to make anyone anything," he started making the boy's shoulders slump in disappointment, "but I have never once failed to give the people under my care every opportunity to attain that for themselves."

Mihael looked up at the man with a strange glint in his large round eyes.

"Attain? For myself?"

Walking back to the boy, Quillsh kneeled down to his level and stared his directly in the eye.

"I will give _you_ the chance to make yourself a proper man."

The words sounded like magic to the blond's ear and he nodded. All Mama talked about was him becoming a proper man so that her family name could be cleansed, so that's what he would do. Once he did become a proper man, he would come back and find his beautiful mother and show her proudly that he had done what she had always wanted of him. He would be a good boy.

OoOoOoOo

The officials were dumbstruck at the idea of a boy barely six years old making his own decision to fly off to England, but Mr. Wammy's money handled the situation promptly and quietly. It only took a few days to sort out the papers and they were both headed towards the airport.

"I'll get you plenty of clothes once we reach England," Mr. Wammy assured as he walked towards the private jet with the small child's hand clenched in his own. "It's pretty cold there too, but not this bad."

The boy's large eyes scanned the scenery around him, completely awestruck. He had never been outside of his own apartment very often, and he had never been anwhere like this. The giant metal birds impressed him and he couldn't understand how something that big could fly all the way to another country.

"Won't we fall down?" he asked a little worriedly as they began ascending the velvet steps.

"No need to worry. This is the safest jet in the world."

"We won't fall down?" he asked again, still unsure.

"Hahaha, no, we won't fall down." As the boy reached the top step, Mr. Wammy remembered something and took a hold of his thin arm. "One moment, Mihael."

"Yes?" he asked, momentarily distracted by the snow beginning to fall.

"There will be someone on this flight with us. He's not used to other people, so if he doesn't talk to you, don't worry about it."

Mr. Wammy's concern confused the child. Why would this person have to talk to him at all? It would make more sense if he didn't.

"I don't want him to talk to me," the child stated bluntly, making the older man chuckle.

"He's just a little strange, is all. Don't mind it."

With that, he released the child from his grip and they both entered the warm and lavish compartment. A small cry of surprise passed the boy's lips and he couldn't help his childish curiosity. The tiny feet padded through the thick carpet excitedly as his pale little fingers stroked the oak chairs and the firm padding. Nothing seemed to escape his attention and he began talking to himself in Slovene excitedly. Mr. Wammy just chuckled and let the child do as he pleased while he talked to the pilot.

The sticky sweet smell of some kind of treat caught the boy's attention and he ran to the back of the plane to find what that was. He came to a screeching halt when he saw a pale statue looking at him with a fork dangling out of its mouth. The statue's ivory skin looked quite cold and the dark eyes painted on it seemed to be staring straight at him. Mihael's mouth dropped open a little as he stared at the evil looking thing more carefully. Its hunched back and strangely soft looking hair which stuck out everywhere made it look like one of the devil gargoyles that he would see on the church buildings when Mama took him. Even its toes were clenching that chair just like the otherworldly creatures clenched the stone beneath their own feet.

Even though the statue was kind of creepy and weird, the hot food on the table in front of it caught the child's attention once more. He didn't recognize any of the food, but it all looked delicious. Feeling a little bit hungry, he stretched out his tiny palm to take a handful of the sticky brown balls of dough. Unfortunately, his hand never reached the plate. The gargoyle abruptly slapped the offending hand making the little child scream in terror before running full speed towards Mr. Wammy. Barely had the old man heard the scream before the force of a child colliding with his leg made him nearly fall over.

"Wha-?" he managed to ask as he collided into the pilot.

"The statue hit me!" the boy screeched, trying to wedge himself between the two men's legs.

A few tears slipped down his cheeks as his little body trembled in fear. Mr. Wammy was confused by the child's words for only half a second before he put the facts together. A tender smile crossed his lips as he picked up the boy and held him close.

"Now, now," he chuckled as the kid fought with the elderly man's jacket buttons so that he could slip into the jacket to hide, "that's not a statue. Come, let's go meet…my charge."

The boy shook his head and tried to wiggle out of the man's grip, but Mr. Wammy kept a firm hold on the boy and forced him to go up to the pale passenger sitting awkwardly on the seat cushion. Mihael cringed away from the other boy still unsure if the other was even human. Nothing about him even looked human.

"Mihael, this is Loyal, and he is the boy I told you about."

Pushing himself into Mr. Wammy's warm chest, the boy took another look at the individual in front of him. He was now eating the sugary stuff in front of him, those hollow eyes staring right into the boy's green eyes. It made him want to squirm even more, but the longer he looked at the other boy, the less afraid he got.

"He's holding his fork funny," he finally said, looking up at the older man.

Mr. Wammy chuckled and patted the boy's head.

"Yes, he does that. Now, Loyal, you know better than to hit other people. Apologize to Mihael."

The raven haired creature tilted his head as he thoughtfully chewed on the sticky ball in his mouth. Almost unconsciously, he began drawing figures in the air with the fork. It looked strange considering he was only using his pointer finger and thumb to hold it up.

"He startled me," he finally replied.

"That's just rationalizing it. Come now, you can apologize."

Loyal looked at the child as if he didn't really know how to apologize for hitting him.

"I see no need to. He was the one who initiated the violence as he attempted to steal my food. It's justice that he was punished."

"Loyal," Mr. Wammy warned with a firm tone making the strange boy hunch even further.

"Very well. Mihael, I apologize for defending myself even though you clearly deserved to be slapped."

The old man sighed in exasperation but Mihael just tilted his head in confusion.

"Eh? I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You tried to steal, and that is a crime. Punishment is fitting for crime."

"But hitting is bad too. That means you have to be hit too," the boy reasoned.

Loyal glanced in annoyance as Mr. Wammy chuckled in amusement. He couldn't see what was so funny with a juvenile way of reasoning.

"In that case, you would have to be hit for hitting me because I hit you. Then you would hit me for hitting you because you hit me because I hit you and so on and so forth. That is completely invalid reasoning considering that you do not have a way to end the circle of punishment."

"I got lost," the boy admitted honestly. "My English isn't that good."

Before Loyal could even begin repeating the entire thing in Slovene, Mr. Wammy put up his palm and shook his head.

"Let's just try to get along, boys. Loyal, this is Mihael; I'm going to take him to Wammy's House. Mihael, this is Loyal; he's a very smart boy and you can learn a lot from him."

"I am not a boy," he snorted indignantly. "I am a young adult."

"He's only sixteen," the old man whispered in the boy's ear making the other boy pout.

"I'm six," Mihael replied.

Before Loyal could retort, the pilot came on over the intercom and announced that they were about to take off. Mr. Wammy set down the blond child to buckle in the sixteen year old and then he buckled Mihael and himself in. In no time at all they were in the air, flying towards a place that the boy hoped would make him just what his mother wanted him to be.

OoOoOo

By the time they reached England, everyone was exhausted. Loyal had spent the entire time fighting to keep those curious little hands away from his files and Mihael had worn himself out exploring every crevice of the jet, which included all of the paper in Loyal's bag. Mr. Wammy had contented himself with reading a book while occasionally laughing at his young charge's pleas for help. As soon as they landed, Mr. Wammy was surprised to see Loyal pick up his own bags and run towards the exit before he could even unbuckle the little blond. That was a first.

"I'm sleepy," Mihael yawned in Slovene as he struggled to walk next to the taller man.

"Don't worry, you'll get to bed soon," Mr. Wammy offered as he tried carrying all the bags.

A funny looking car was parked by the jet and Loyal was already in it, slouched in a corner back seat. His thumb was being chewed on mercilessly by those perfect white teeth, and he nearly drew blood when he realized that Mr. Wammy was setting the child in the seat between them.

"Can't he sit in the front?" the older boy offered as he scooted away from the sleepy child.

"He's too small for that," Mr. Wammy replied.

"But…what if he tries to sleep on me?"

Mr. Wammy rolled his eyes and settled next to the child. Mihael was already starting to nod off and he couldn't help but smile. Loyal was not used to being in the presence of children and they made him extremely nervous because they did not respect his expectation to be left alone. To be honest, he had never brought any of the children from Wammy's house anywhere near Loyal, but this was a special case.

The drive was short, but it was amusing for the old man. In an attempt to keep the boy from touching him, Loyal had opted for poking his shoulder with his index finger anytime the boy wobbled in his direction. The bony finger remained outstretched, awaiting the next moment the child might attempt to rest his head on his thin arm. The sight was so ridiculous, but it was expected. At least Mihael didn't try to fight off that insistent finger. As soon as the vehicle stopped, Loyal made to jump out of the car and run into the house, but Mr. Wammy stopped him.

"Loyal, take Mihael into the house."

The boy froze mid-position before jerking his head to look at his caretaker.

"You cannot be serious," he deadpanned.

"Come now," the old man sighed in annoyance. "I have to carry in all the bags, the least you can do is take him inside."

"Just inside?" the dark eyed boy clarified.

"To my room," Mr. Wammy specified. "I know you don't want to, but try to put him to sleep for me. I need to check up a few things with Roger before I go up there."

The teenager cringed before he took a hold of the child's sleeve as if he were afraid it was germ infested. He shuffled towards the house uncomfortably, holding the child out in front of him and Mr. Wammy did not miss the accusing look shot back at him. Oh well, this was best for Loyal. It would teach him to grow up a little.

Loyal obediently took the child through the silent halls, all the way up to the top floor where Mr. Wammy's personal room was. Mihael was practically walking in his sleep at this point and didn't have time to observe the beautiful detail surrounding him. He was only concerned with finally going to sleep. The teenager lifted the boy up, careful not to touch him any more than necessary and placed him on the soft barely used bed. Just as he turned to leave, Mihael grasped the long white sleeve.

"You're not going to leave, are you?" he asked in a very small voice.

"Yes, I am. There is no reason for me to stay in here."

"But…"

The child looked at the sheets with tears gathering in his eyes. He didn't want to beg a stranger to stay with him, but he was scared. This place was dark and quiet, nothing like his old home. Besides, he always slept with his mother and being alone scared him. Mr. Wammy had slept with him the past few nights, but now he wasn't here.

Biting his lip, the older boy really tried to feign ignorance of the child's feelings. He didn't want to understand that the little boy was scared to be alone so that he wouldn't have to stay with the little gremlin any more than necessary, but his mind wouldn't allow it. Cursing under his breath in Japanese, Loyal sat down on the bed next to the child making the boy light up.

"Come lay with me," Mihael commanded.

Loyal uttered a few more choice words, but he crawled over next to the child and attempted to lie next to him. He tried his best to keep some space between them as he settled down uncomfortably. Sleeping on a bed was something he wasn't accustomed to; a chair usually sufficed. As soon as he settled a little, looking like a dead fish ready to be filleted, the little boy did something else unbelievable. He rolled over and clung to the wiry frame of Loyal. A whimper escaped the older boy as he attempted to peel the child off of him, but Mihael wouldn't relinquish his hold.

"Good night, Loyal," he muttered against the flat stomach making the other boy twitch.

As the minutes passed, Loyal's brain was running on overdrive, attempting to come up with a decent escape from this predicament. He obviously wanted to keep the little heathen asleep or Watari would give him a stern lecturing, but he wanted to get away from the kid. He smelled of filthy laundry and dirt, a smell that seemed to follow all children around. Perhaps not filthy laundry so much as…

All thought ceased in the genius's mind as something warm and wet spread across his leg and the sheets under it. No, it couldn't be, it just couldn't! A shriek of horror would have been completely appropriate but having never made that noise before, Loyal settled for a well timed "shit".

"You didn't," he whispered. "Oh dear Lord, tell me you didn't."

Mihael sniffled against his chest before looking up with teary eyes.

"I need to use the toilet," he whispered guiltily.

Loyal's dark rimmed eye twitched.

"You already relieved yourself."

"Oops."

**-Evil Grin- Ok, so how many of you actually guessed how the title was going to fit in this chapter? I couldn't help myself at all. -pets poor L- Also, we're beginning to see a change of personality taking place. Without his mother constantly hovering over him and keeping him locked away from the world, he is beginning to learn to explore. Although it might seem that he's ok too quickly, Mello's problems are far from over; he is just overwhelmed with everything. Finally, I didn't think that Watari would automatically tell the kid who L was so I looked up British names and found Loyal. It fits in with a word that sounds enough like a name, but is almost too unreal to be used by a normal person. Please review and let me know what you think!**


	3. Bunny

**Gah, soooo long since I updated!!! -headdesk- Well, this isn't exactly a long chapter, but I hope that all of you will enjoy the appearance of another character. He's not going to play an extraordinarily huge role (like Matt or Near), but he'll have some kind of influence. XD Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted this story!! It makes me unbelievably happy and gives me incentive to keep writing. Please enjoy!**

A squeal of either delight or horror echoed down the halls making Roger jump out of his chair and run to the source of the noise. Ever since Mello had arrived at the Wammy's House, he had never had a moment of piece. The strange child had been suffering from post traumatic stress disorder which caused him to act out at unpredictable moments. He could punch out an older kid's lights just as easily as play a game of football with them. It was all up to the elder man to try and figure out. He had to sort through bloody noses, screaming children, and scraped knees. Boy did he hate his job sometimes.

"Mello! What did you do now?"

A group of children looked up at Roger with wide eyes. They were all surrounding a shivering baby rabbit which squeaked unhappily.

"What? Why are you always yelling at me?!"

The blond-haired child looked up angrily from the midst of the group, scooping up the furry creature into his arms. Roger shook his head and ran a wrinkled hand through what was left of his hair.

"He brought a bunny, Roger," a little girl with black pig tails explained.

"Roger, he caught a baby bunny!" Another girl stated loudly. "Can we keep it, please?"

"Yeah, keep it, please!" a few other children chimed in.

The older man shook his head tiredly. These children were so much more work than they were worth. How was it that Quillsh found such joy in having so many of them? They were always causing trouble and they didn't even bother to act thankful. None of these little brats were ever going to be able to replace L, the greatest detective of all time. Even the older ones didn't have a chance. To be honest, they were even further away than these newer ones were.

"No, we can't keep a rabbit," he informed the children bluntly. "We're not going to start collecting animals! I already have to take care of all of you and I'm not going to start with the animals."

A resounding chorus of unhappiness rang out as the children tried to convince the grumpy old man that they would take care and love any pets especially something as fuzzy and cute as a bunny. Still, he would not be swayed. Through the years he had learned that children would get bored of tending to their pet's needs and that would lead to him cleaning up after the god-forsaken animals. No sir, he was not going to even fool around with that.

Mello just stood there with the shaking baby animal in his arms. He was petting it softly as the arguments continued. No kind of emotion shined through those unusual eyes. The bunny's beady little eyes looked up at its captor as it made another uncomfortable noise.

"Don't you kids understand?" Roger asked in exasperation. "It's a wild animal! It's not a pet. It can't be treated like a normal little animal. For crying out loud, it'll be dead in a few days! It won't survive in captivity, and now that all of you have touched it, it won't survive out in the wild. It smells like humans!"

A few of the little girls began crying for the fate of the cute little rabbit and some of the older boys tried to comfort them. Roger could only roll his eyes at the drama.

"Don't kill it!" the youngest girl in the circle begged as large tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I'm not going to kill it, Gena," he replied tiredly. "Come now, Mello, let's take him back."

Those round green eyes looked up to stare directly into the older man's eyes.

"No. I'll take care of it till it dies."

Sighing heavily, he weighed out the options. He could fight with the unpredictable boy and cause a larger scene or he could just let Mello take care of it until it died. Looking at the little fur ball, he could tell that it had was either too young or already sick. There was no way that Mello could keep it alive no matter how much he wanted to. Thankfully, that would spare him from some trouble.

"Fine. Throw it out as soon as it dies."

Pinching his nose, he turned around and headed back to his office. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered to help out his dear old friend, Quillsh. Sitting down heavily on his leather chair, a smile tugged at his thin lips. It was at times like this that he always reflected on his long and strong relationship with his old chap. He owed his very life to that eclectic man and he would forever do whatever he could to help him. If it meant suffering with these darn kids, then it was a small price to make Quillsh happy.

~_~_~_~_~_

Mello was hunched over under the stairs, petting the soft grey fur of the tiny creature in his arms. Wiping the moisture from his eyes, he really did try to keep quiet. The past few months had been really tough on him and he didn't really know how to handle it. At first, it didn't seem too hard to adjust to the new life. However, the novelty had worn off leaving him scared and lonely. He was given a new parent, a new home, a new friend, and many new and strange experiences.

Flying on an airplane was definitely one of the most frightening and exhilarating experiences of them all. Not only did he have the chance to actually see the giant metal bird flying through the air, but he also got to meet Loyal, his first friend ever. He felt extremely guilty for peeing on the nervous guy, but it just sort of happened. As a matter of fact, he had been suffering from terrible bladder control ever since he left his home in Slovenia.

Sadly, Mr. Wammy and Loyal had to leave the very next day. The old man had told him that they had a job and couldn't be away from it for too long, but that they would be coming back every once in a while to check up on him. Mr. Wammy also told the boy that since he moved to a new home he would need a new name. Mello was christened on the blond child and then he was once again left alone in a foreign environment. Roger wasn't nearly as nice as Mr. Wammy was, and everyone at the large house spoke with a funny accent that took him a while to understand. It was a lot heavier than Mr. Wammy's accent and it annoyed him.

He couldn't really understand why he acted the way he did sometimes. Like the other day, he had been practicing that cool thing they called football and a kid bumped into him. In a matter of seconds he was on top of that kid beating him to a pulp. One of the many nannies had to pull him off and it took a few hours before he was even calm enough to talk about what happened.

"Come on, eat something," he whispered to the little creature.

He had a small plate of lettuce from dinner and he had been trying to feed the little thing every single day since he caught it, but it didn't want to eat. Sometimes it would drink, but most of the time it wouldn't even do that. Roger couldn't be right, it wouldn't just die so quickly! He didn't want to be left alone again! It had been so unbelievably cute; he just couldn't help but catch it. How was he supposed to know that you weren't supposed to catch wild animals? He never even really saw wild animals where he had lived in Slovenia, and actually seeing one alive had made him super excited. Now, it was suffering and he didn't know what to do.

"Hello?"

Turquoise eyes shot up to look at an older boy looking at him through the gaps in the stairs. His dark hair hung down to his shoulders, framing dark eyes and pale, dull skin.

"H-hello," he sniffed as he looked back down at the shivering bunny.

"What's wrong with him?" the boy asked flatly.

His voice was deeper than kids Mello's age, but he spoke softly and in an unimposing manner which made the younger boy relax.

"Um, I don't know."

The dark haired boy shuffled down the stairs slowly and went around to where Mello was. The guy was slouched almost like Loyal was and it made the blond perk up a little. He already liked this guy.

Pale spindly fingers lifted the creature out of the child's smothering arms and checked it over. His dark eyes trailed over its weak body realizing that it was too small to live without its mother. It was dying of starvation. Looking up a little he saw as the blond child stared hopefully at him as if he could perform a miracle and cure the rabbit of whatever was wrong with it. Shaking his head he put it back in the boy's arms.

"It's dying, little guy."

Mello's face fell and even more tears slipped out of his eyes as he gently petted the creature.

"I…I just wanted to play with it," he choked out sadly. "I didn't m-mean to-to…"

Awkwardly, the older boy reached out and ruffled that mess of golden hair.

"Hey, I'm sure that it's not holding it against you. Dying isn't something bad you know."

Looking up with those striking eyes, Mello couldn't help but stare in wonder at the other.

"W-what do you mean? I d-don't really know what dying is, b-but-"

The other boy smiled sadly and continued his awkward and slow petting.

"Dying is just another part of existence, little gov'nor. It's like eating, sleeping, and breathing. Everyday, something finally comes to the end of its life and it will die. It will pass into another plain of existence and is no longer with the rest of us who live."

Mello wiped his eyes and looked at the tiny creature.

"I-it goes away?"

"Well, kind of."

The dark eyes rolled up to examine the bottom of the stairs as he tried to think of a better way to explain it to the child. He had his own personal opinions on death and had done quite a bit of research on it himself, but to try to squish all of that into something that a little kid could understand would be a little challenging. To be honest, he was also trying to candy-coat the entire thing. Death was not something that should be weighing heavily on a child's mind, and he himself was a prime example of that.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that everyone has a spirit inside of them. Our physical bodies are just a vessel, like a cup holding water." The blond nodded, so he continued. "When a person dies, it's like the cup breaks. Now, the water doesn't just disappear, it has to go somewhere else. It changes, that's all."

Mello thought about that analogy as he stroked the baby rabbit.

"He's changing?"

"Yeah."

"W-well, Roger told me to get rid of him when he died. Um, I don't want to do that though…"

Pausing in his petting, the dark-haired boy let his hand slide down to pull Mello's chin up.

"Do you trust me?" he asked softly. Mello nodded eagerly; this guy really reminded him of a nicer version of Loyal. "The little bunny is going to die for sure, but it might take some time. After he dies, his body will decompose in order to give the planet some more life."

"So I have to let him go?" the boy asked sadly.

"Yes, you have to," he replied firmly but softly. "Can I suggest that we end his suffering so that he can hurry and change? It's a mercy killing of sorts."

Mello bit his lip softly and looked down again at the creature. It would be sad to see it go, but if it was hurting then he didn't want that to last any longer than it needed to. He cared for the rabbit and wanted it to change and to be happy as soon as possible. This guy was right.

"You're right," he finally said, holding out the bunny to the other. "I don't want him hurting anymore."

Smiling, the dark haired boy took the little rabbit in his cold hands.

"You don't have to watch if you don't want to," he suggested, but Mello shook his head. This was something that he really wanted to see with his own eyes. "Shhhh, little one," he whispered to the rabbit. "Shhhh…"

He continued to pet the creature slowly, comforting it so that it could slip away peacefully. As it finally seemed to relax enough to stop shaking, his hard fingers snapped its neck in one swift motion. It was all over for this little one. Having some decency, he closed its beady eyes.

"Is…is it dead?" Mello whispered.

"Yeah, it's gone. We need to go bury it."

Standing up, he held out his hand which the blond took willingly. Quietly, the two of them made their way out of the building without anyone any one bothering them. The cool air quickly brought goose bumps to the surface of their skin, but they ignored it to bury the bunny. Soon enough they were both far out enough to carry out the burial. The older boy dug into the moist earth with his bare hands while Mello held the corpse of his first pet. He didn't know that this was an almost regular occurrence for the older boy; dying people and pets was something that he had been around constantly. As a matter of fact, his unnatural eyes constantly reminded him of the mortality of every single individual. This boy was no different.

As they put the body into the ground, Mello began to cry a little bit again. Patting his shoulder with muddy hands, the dark haired boy decided that saying a few words over the bunny's body would be appropriate.

"This bunny was a good pet. He stayed cute and friendly. We hope that his soul can rest and that he can be happy wherever he is going."

"Bye bye, bunny," Mello mumbled.

After a moment of silence, the older boy covered up the corpse and stood up. Brushing his dirty hands on his pants, he frowned as he only succeeded in making a larger mess. Mello stood up and watched him before holding out his hands.

"What's your name?" he asked as the older boy pulled him into his arms.

"Call me B," he replied. "Just B."

"I'm Mello."

With that, the dark-haired teen nuzzled into the child's neck, rubbing his back as it shuddered with soft crying. Such a soft boy with a delicate heart, seeing something like this really hurt him. However, B recognized that morbid curiosity laced in Mello's eyes and it saddened him a little.

"Let's go inside."

Lifting him up, B carried Mello into Wammy's House quietly, making sure to avoid anyone who might be up. Reaching the hallway outside the bedrooms, he chuckled darkly as he noticed the pretty blond was fast asleep already. Kissing the soft neck, he eased Mello onto his own bed before shuffling to the bathroom to sleep in the bathtub. Already surrounded by pirates and space aliens in the dream world, Mello never heard the deep practiced laugh echoing against the tiled walls. Instead, he dreamed of an adventure with his bunny and his two friends.

**Author's Note: I am referring to British football which is American soccer. **

**So, Roger's an ass. -shrug- Sorry, I just can't help myself. Anyway, YAY FOR B!!!!! As I looked back at the timelines to try to make this story as canon as possible (plot-wise, lol, not pairings) I decided that if Mello showed up at Wammy's House as early as I made him, then it is completely possible that he would have met the first generation of L wannabes. On top of that, I decided that if they did meet, it would allow Mello to talk so fondly of him as he did in the BB Murdercase novel. On top of that, someone had to spill a little information about L to B so that he could copy him the way he did, right? -snicker- **

**Please continue to review and let me know what you liked and/or hated. And next chapter is going to divert a little to another major character. I'll give Mello's chocolate to whoever can guess who it is!  
**


	4. Light and Snow

**Thanks goes to Mattpuppy for betaing this chapter. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, Power Rangers, Captain Crunch, or Kangaroo O's (a cheap brand of Cheerio-like cereal). So don't sue me. XD  
**

Striking blue eyes fluttered open to look around the small cold apartment. Groaning, the small child buried his head under the Power Rangers blanket that was currently resting on him. A small giggle next to the boy made him groan again.

"Wakey wakey, bwother!"

Tiny cold hands shook his bare shoulder making him yelp and immediately jump off the couch.

"Ok, ok, stop!" he cried in defeat, throwing his hands up to keep the tiny icicles away. Squinting in pain, he covered his eyes and felt around for his baseball cap. "Kennedy," he whimpered as he tried to find relief from the brightness of the room, "close the damn blinds already!"

"Awww! But it's always swo dawk in here, Mail!"

"There's a reason for that," he hissed as he settled for sticking his head under the blanket. "It fucking hurts my eyes, so close the damn curtains!"

Huffing, the small girl wobbled to the curtains and tugged on the end of it until it slid completely closed. Darkness flooded through the room making Mail sigh happily. Pulling his head from the blanket, he shook his tousled brown hair and began his hunt for his shirt and Yankee baseball cap. After a few minutes of searching, he seemed to just zone out as he sat on the cold floor. Staring at him patiently, his sister waited for a few minutes before decided to snap him out of it.

"I'm hungwy," she informed him, making him jump a little.

"Fine, fine."

Spotting his shirt and hat under the couch, he wriggled into the threadbare clothes. With the hat firmly planted on his head, Mail took his sister's hand and led her to the filthy kitchen. Upon entering, the still body of a woman lying on the linoleum made the boy sigh in frustration.

"Mommy passed owt again," Kennedy stated.

"Can't that bitch fucking pass out on her damn bed?" he hissed as he led his sister around the body.

"What's a bwitch, Mail?" the brown-eyed girl asked as she watched her brother begin the dangerous climb to the cupboard of cereal. The chairs and stepstools that had been skillfully piled on top of each other always wobbled dangerously, making the girl nervous.

"That's what you call ladies when you're mad," Mail stated matter-of-factly. "I see it on TV all the time."

"You know so much!" his little sister replied in awe. Her brother was her idol and he could do no wrong in her sparkling eyes.

"If you watched TV like I do, you'd be smart too."

"But I don't like it," she huffed as she crossed her arms. That TV box always made her head hurt.

As he reached the top, Mail opened the cupboard and stared at the only two boxes in there. Sitting in the middle of an otherwise empty self, Captain Crunch and Kangaroo O's stared back at him mockingly. Kennedy giggled nervously as she watched her brother zone out on the precarious pile of furniture.

'_WehadKangarooO'syesterdayforbreakfastandlunchsoKennedywouldn'twantthatbutwehadCaptainCrunchforthepasttwoweeksbutshelikeshervarietydarnparentsareneverbotheringtobuydifferentcerealthey'retobusybeingpassedoutorscroungingformoneydarnthatremindsmethatIneedtogetsomecashforthemorwe'llnevereatatallbutIneedahitfirstIwonderifDadwillnoticemetakingsomeofMom's-'_

"Mail, you swooned out," Kennedy interrupted, making the boy jerk out of his thoughts. Unfortunately, the movement made him lose his footing. The four-year-old girl's scream was drowned as all the furniture and her brother crashed down on the cold linoleum.

"Mail! May-may! You can't bwe dwead!"

"Ugh, I'm not dead," he groaned as he got off the floor. Pain shot through his right arm, making him wince, but the worried look on his sister's face made him grin and bear it. "See? I'm not even hurt!"

"You're bweeding," she stated simply as she averted her gaze to the rag doll in her hands.

Mail got hurt too often for her to be bothered by it much anymore. As long as he wasn't dead, she didn't worry. Besides, he seemed unbreakable to her. There was never a look of pain on his face, and he could smile no matter how badly he banged himself up. When she grew up, she was going to be perfect like he was.

"Ah, fuck!"

Looking down, he noticed blood from his split chin dripping down to stain his shirt. Before Kennedy could comment on how her brother was a big dummy, familiar cursing from the hall made the two children freeze.

"Get in the closet, Kennedy," Mail ordered and she did so quickly and quietly.

Almost immediately afterwards, the door burst open revealing a nearly bald man with tattoos painting his thin white arms.

"What the fuck are you doing, Mail?" he screamed angrily as the boy looked down at the floor. "I'm talking to you, you good for nothing, cock-sucking bastard!" he screeched as he hit the boy across the face.

"I j-just fell," he whispered before his father snarled in anger and even more blows fell on his body.

Curling up in a familiar position, Mail retreated into his mind. Deep in his mind he couldn't hear the painful words flung at him, he couldn't feel the blows breaking his body, and he couldn't see those terrifying eyes damning him to hell. Memories of the arcade he liked to go to began racing through his mind.

'_OksoallIneedtobeatisthatdarnGalgajustneedtogetanextradarnspaceshipbutIcan'tkeepgettingcaughtinthoselobstershipsifIgetmoreonthebonuslevelIcangetmorelivestoosoifIholdthebuttondowntwosecondslessandpushitthreesecondssooner-'_

"Louis, quit it!" The sound of his mother's tired voice pulled him back to reality. Her reddish brown hair hung over her pallid face as she groaned in irritation. Her unnaturally blue eyes glanced at the furniture strewn across the floor and her son once again being beaten by his father. "Fuck, the last thing we need is to kill our damn piggy bank, you jackass."

Panting, the unhealthily pale man straightened out and gave the boy one last firm kick before stomping to the single bedroom. Whimpering, Mail got up and ran into his mother's arms. Grunting, she leaned back against the empty cupboards and held her trembling child.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he whispered sadly, not entirely sure what he had done wrong.

"Hey, it's ok baby. I'm sure he just had another rough night."

"M'kay," he replied quickly.

After a few more minutes of petting his hair, Grace Jeevas smiled down at him and lifted his bruised face to look up at her. "You wanna do your Mama a favor, baby?" Eyes lighting up, Mail nodded. "If you can get me and Daddy some cash, we can take you to the arcade again."

A giant smile spread painfully across the child's broken face as he nodded excitedly. It was rare that his parents would take him to the arcade and he could never go by himself because he was much too short to reach the games without being held up. Still, he won tickets all the time and always brought his sister little gifts.

"Um, first can I…?"

Catching her son's drift she petted his head and nodded. Sniffling, she stood up stiffly and headed for the bedroom. The soft tones of his parents talking to each other was the only sound in the apartment for a little while before the sound of his mother's bare feet making their way to the kitchen caught his attention.

"You need to quit zoning out so much," she snorted as he followed her, forcing himself to focus.

Dropping to her knobby knees, she spread out a piece of paper on the ground with a white substance in the center. Taking out a razor, she cut the powder and divided them into several lines. Pulling her knotted hair back, she knelt forward and snorted the drugs up through her own handmade paper tube. Sniffing and pinching her nose, she handed the tube to her son, who eagerly copied his mother's actions. Between the two it didn't take long to finish the small amount of cocaine.

"Feel better?" she asked as her son sneezed.

Breathing deeply, Mail nodded. "It's not so cold anymore!"

"Alright! Now go get some money for Mama and Daddy, ok?"

"Ok!"

Feeling the stimulant running through his body, he felt a lot more comfortable. For some reason he was just able to function better once he had some of that magic powder. It wasn't so hard to focus anymore. As he put on his father's worn jacket and a pair of boots that were several sizes too large, he tried to push back the excruciating pain shooting through his arm and stabbing in his sides. It wasn't the first time he had pain like this. Stopping at the closet sneakily so that his parents wouldn't notice, he leaned down to whisper to his sister.

"I'll be back, ok? Just gonna get some money."

A muffled "ok" let him know that she was fine and probably already to take a nap. Smiling fondly, he made his way out of the apartment and prepared to make his trip to a new ATM machine.

~_~_~_~_~_

A five-year-old boy shouldn't have to walk alone through snow on a cold and dreary January day. He shouldn't have been outside while other families were enjoying warm dinners and each other's company. He shouldn't have been forced to bring in money for the family single handedly. Then again, a five-year-old boy shouldn't have been able to hack into people's ATM accounts, either.

It had just clicked in his head one day as he was wandering the streets in an attempt to keep away from his angry father. He had stood behind a person watching as they pushed numbers on the machine and pushed in their funny plastic cards. No one cared that he, a mere child, saw the numbers they pushed and not a single one noticed as their cards were stolen quite easily by the said child.

Gloves given to him by the nice homeless guy outside their crappy apartment had always kept his fingerprints secret, and the baseball cap that was always pulled down low to prevent his sensitive eyes from being damaged too badly in the sunlight kept his face unidentified. It took a while for the police to catch on to the small criminal, but without any solid form of identification they were at an utter loss. Besides, who could believe that a mere child was the one responsible for over $10,000 stolen in a little over three months? As a matter of fact, they probably wouldn't have ever caught the child if it wasn't for a series of fortunate events set up by a certain interested detective.

Officer Leonardo Moretti was walking around a route that had been given to him by the prestigious Eraldo Coil. He had contacted the department recently and offered to help solve the case if the $40,000 reward was doubled. Although they were tempted to deny paying such money, having a famous detective work with them was too much of a temptation. Out of all the officers, Leonardo was chosen by him to be the "pawn" as he played this strange game of strategy.

"Darn Coil making me stay outside here in the cold," he grumbled as he made sure to look unsuspicious. His dark trained eyes always kept an eye on the ATM machine across the street where supposedly some little child was going to show up and steal money from it. Yeah, like that was going to just magically happen on his watch. Coil must not have been as smart as everyone thought he was. There was no way that he could have narrowed down the search to only one freakin' ATM machine in all of New York City!

A small bundled up child nearly escaped his attention except for the fact that the kid seemed to be on his own. Curiously, he looked around for the parents of the ragged child, but no one around seemed to acknowledge the kid. Getting worried, he looked both ways on the street and prepared to cross just so that he could see if the kid was alright. Thankfully, before he got the chance to move, he saw the kid trip right into the man who had just left the ATM machine. The man's wallet was easily lifted as the police officer gawked at the utterly impossible scene in front of him.

Having some common sense, he quickly jumped back into his role as a casual pedestrian and was completely and undeniably dumbfounded as he watched a child no taller than a kindergartner proceed, with difficulty, to punch in the numbered code and access the money with the card. Taking the money and shoving it in his pockets, the boy then just walked away calmly, like he had done nothing wrong at all.

"Holy fuck," the police officer mumbled as he dialed the ridiculously long phone number on the equally ridiculously large contraption that was supposed to be a cell phone, both given to him by Coil.

"Yes?" the electrically garbled voice answered flatly.

"Hey, this is Officer Moretti, and I just watched a little kid steal money from this ATM."

"…And you would be calling me, why?"

"Ah, well…" The Italian man slapped himself on the forehead at the stupidity of what he had just done. "You're right; I'll go arrest him right now."

"Are you stupid?" the creepy voice asked making the police officer flare up in anger.

"Excuse me?! Who do you think you're talking to you son of a-"

"No need to get vulgar, officer, but don't you think you should follow this child _home_ to his _parents_? He is an under aged child and it would make much more sense to arrest his parents who probably got him to do these crimes." Moretti was silent. "Am I wrong?"

Rubbing his temples, Moretti had to admit that the man was right. Even if the parents didn't instigate this child's theft, they probably knew what he was up to. Besides, what kind of parents let this child roam around the streets in a New York City winter?

"No, I'll get on it."

"Call me when his family is in custody."

"Yes sir."

Hanging up, he shoved the monstrous device in his coats inner pocket and began the delicate work of following the kid without being noticed. However, the kid seemed to wander further and further into the seedier area of town which really shouldn't have been a surprise to the man, and it made him stick out like a sore thumb. An old woman began to beg him for money which caught the boy's attention. Ice blue eyes clashed with dark brown, and realization struck the kid like a lightning bolt.

Dashing away, Mail ran in the opposite direction of home, hoping to lose the cop in the maze of the slums. Unfortunately for him, he was heavily injured and couldn't really stand a chance of outrunning a full grown man. It was a ridiculous idea to even try, but he went ahead and tried anyway. A glove covered hand took a hold of his shoulder and pulled him back which sent pain shooting through his body.

The scream from the child startled Officer Moretti, making him let go. Falling back on a carpet of white snow, Mail cried out again, wheezing as what was probably broken ribs rubbed against his swelling lung tissue. His well-worn hat was flung into a wet ditch, exposing his delicate eyes to the horrors of the bright light. All in all, he was in a very uncomfortable position.

As the child slapped hands over his eyes and began wheezing painfully, the Italian police officer became extremely worried. Bruises painted that tiny face and his long unruly hair was an absolute nightmare. His boots were too large and he had lost one trying to run away which revealed a duct taped ankle.

"Good lord, kid!" he exclaimed, approaching carefully. "Are you ok?"

"I want my lawyer!" Mail answered angrily, unable to see a damn thing in the brightness.

"A what?!"

"I watch TV jackass, and I know my rights!"

Moretti stared at the kid in a mixture of disbelief and worry. "I'm not going to hurt ya at all! I just want to help you."

"Do you really think that I'm that stupid?" Mail yelled in the general vicinity of the police officer. "Don't try to pull that 'good cop, bad cop' shit on me!"

"…I'm the only one here, so how could I pull something like that?" Mail was silent at that. "Seriously, I just want to help ya! Who did all that to you?" Moretti gestured at the injuries, completely unaware that the young boy couldn't see anything.

"I fell," he answered venomously, making the police officer scratch his head.

"All right, kid. If you say so. Just make sure you get home safely."

Standing up, he brushed the snow off himself and walked away. Once Mail didn't hear him anymore, he began his near impossible search for his hat. The frozen water soaked his tiny hands and legs as he crawled around blindly, looking for the only thing that offered some kind of relief to his eyes. After a few minutes, he luckily came upon the completely drenched hat. Slapping it on his head carelessly, Mail ignored his chattering teeth and sighed in relief at the little shade the hat provided for his eyes.

After he looked around to be sure he wasn't being followed, the boy ran home as quickly as he could. The drugs had already left his system and it left him feeling exhausted and quite cold. He wanted nothing more than to snuggle with his sister on the couch under his warm blanket. The journey home was an absolute nightmare as he struggled to keep from just sitting in the snow and crying in pain. It felt like his lungs were being torn into shreds and his right arm was swinging limply beside him.

Still, home sweet home was just ahead. Up four flights of stairs, past six drug dealers and two hookers, and there was the door to his little slice of heaven. Cream colored paint was peeling from the door and the rotting wood could be visibly seen for the most part. Still, this door was all he knew. Number 416, his life.

Pushing inside the cold room, he sniffled as he stripped off all the wet clothes. Perverted drug dealers made filthy remarks about his young naked body as he completely stripped in front of the door. He was too tired to care about decency or closing the misshapened door. Coughing painfully, he tried to make his way to the couch, but his father got to him first.

"What the fuck happened to you, boy? You got that damn money?"

"It's in the pockets," he croaked as he gazed longingly at the couch.

"Stand there," his father commanded as he went to inspect the money.

After a moment of silence, the door was slammed loudly and Mail began to tremble. If his father was this quiet, it meant that he was super pissed off. What had he done wrong now? There was 400 dollars in the pockets, what more did his dad want? The sound of the belt being pulled out made him cringe and tremble even more violently.

"You've got to be the damn stupidest bastard on this fucking planet!" CRACK! The leather of the belt bit into the child's back making him cry out in pain. "There's money in there boy, but its all motherfucking wet!" SNAP! SNAP! CRACK! Several more welts blossomed across the bruised back. "On your knees, bastard, and put out your hands."

"P-please no!" Mail sobbed as he obediently went down on his knees and outstretched his numbed hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

A screech of pain interrupted his begging as the buckle of the belt came down across one of his hands. The flesh was torn open mercilessly and blood spilled down liberally. Desperate screams of pain filled the halls as the metal continued to brutally serve the punishment. Mail tried to draw into himself, but the pain was too much, all his overly sensitized mind could do was feel every inch of pain, every drop of blood, every rip into his skin. Watered eyes only opened once and they closed just as quickly, as the sight of his mother standing at the doorway and doing nothing seared itself into his mind.

The door bursting down seemed so unreal, like one of his daydreams. A shot rang out in the frigid air and then the terrible screams all began to blur into a cacophony of agony and distress. Was he still crying? Was Kennedy safe in the closet? He thought that he called out for his sister, his innocent baby sister, but there was no sound in his ears other than that otherworldly ringing against his bleeding eardrums. There was a face, a worried face, but it faded away far sooner than that sound did.

~_~_~_~_~_

"_Dear mother of god! Look at that child!"_

"_Ugh, he's unrecognizable as a human! What kind of people did that to him?"_

"_He's suffering from malnourishment on top of several other complications…"_

"_Complications?"_

"_Someone should just put that child out of his misery."_

"_Just let the government handle that. The sooner we patch him up, the sooner he's out of our hair."_

Mail laid on the bed, completely unresponsive to anyone. There were doctors, nurses, police officers, psychologists, and even fucking social workers. All he could hear from these people was that he was broken and was in need of their help to be all fixed up. Bull shit. He never needed anyone in his life to fix him up before, and he sure as hell didn't need them now. At first he tried to ask about his family, but no one would answer any of his questions. They all wanted to know how _he_ felt.

Special gauze was taped over his sensitive eyes as the doctors tried to figure out what was wrong with them. Sadly, they were so overwhelmed by all the other treatments he needed that his eyes were the least of their concerns. Both ankles had been severely sprained and were literally being held together by the duct tape he had wrapped them in. His right arm had several fractures, he had five broken ribs, he had a puncture wound in his lung, and he was suffering from starvation and dehydration to name a few. Still, there was one problem that was their number one concern now that he was stable. He was addicted to crack.

"Hey kid, how are ya doing?" The familiar voice stirred the boy a little as he faced the direction of the man it came from. It only took him a moment to realize that it was that police officer he had spoken to the day his life went to hell. Turning his head away, he refused to give this man an answer. The officer just sighed. "I know that you're pretty confused right now, but ya gotta trust that we adults know what's best right now. I mean, we don't want to do anythin' to hurt you."

"Where's my sister?" Mail asked tiredly.

The officer paused before deciding that he at least owed this kid some information. "She's been taken by the state and placed in a foster home." A foster home, a place that wasn't with him. "You see, she wasn't hurt at all and so the social workers were able to take her faster and place her in a much better home where she'll be taken care of."

"Without me."

"Uh, yeah. I mean…well, I'm not gonna lie to you kid. Siblings never end up together in the foster care system. But don't you think it's for the best? She's young and can forget what her life before was like. She doesn't have to suffer the horrors of remembering being raised by junkies. It's that want you want? Something better for her? She'll have food on the table every day, she'll be warm, and she'll be loved."

The words sounded all nice, but there was a sad undertone. She would be better if her family never existed. All the years spent with her brother on that couch, all the hours spent playing games over their parents' drugged bodies, all those toys he worked so hard to get for her. She would be better if it was all gone. Would she? What if she was crying right now, alone and scared?

"I want…I want my sister," Mail forced out. The tears were starting again, soaking through the gauze. "I need to make sure she's safe and warm and not scared. I need-"

"Shh, shhh, shhh, it's ok." A warm hand clenched over his heavily bandaged hands. "She's fine, Mail, she's fine."

~_~_~_~_~_

"Hello, Mail, my name is Quillsh Wammy." The boy just laid there in bed, refusing to respond once more. It had been weeks of surgeries, of lessening doses of cocaine, of sitting around in pain. He was tired of it and refused to put up any energy. He would just lie there and wait to die. "I've been talking to your next of kin and it's been decided that you will be coming with me to Winchester, England."

"Who the fuck are you?" Mail asked emotionlessly.

"I'm Quillsh Wammy."

"I know your name fucktard, but who are you?" If he hadn't been blinded by the gauze, Mail would have seen the amused smile grace the old man's lips.

"I run an orphanage for specially gifted children and I would like you to join me."

After a moment of pause, "You mean retarded kids?"

He could hear the British man's laugh this time. "No, I am referring to geniuses, savants, and the like."

"Then why me? And why bother asking, I don't have a damn choice." Another chuckle made Mail frown. What the hell was this guy snickering about?

"I always give the children a choice, Mail. In the end, it's their life, so I let them choose that path for themselves. You are especially intelligent, young man. How many other five-year-olds have such a colorful vocabulary as well as a criminal record?"

"Whatever."

"Would you like to come, Mail?"

"Who's my next of kin?"

"You mother's sister."

"Did she not want me?"

"Sadly, no. She has her own family to take care of and is afraid that you'll be a bad influence on her children." As with all the other children, Quillsh refused to candy-coat the truth. The boy needed to learn to deal with reality no matter what.

"Doesn't she even fucking know me?"

"Not at all."

'_SoIcangowiththisfucktardtoanothercountryfarawaythatwayIdon'thavetorememberthiseitherIcanjustforgetitalandmoveonwithmylifebutmysisterwillbesofarawaybutit'sbetterforhertobealoneandawayfromascrewuplikemeshe'llhaveabetterlifeandchanceofbeinganawesomewomanwithalifeandarealfamilyIdon'twanttoscrewthatupforher-'_

Catching himself drift away from reality, Mail apologized. "Ugh, sorry. I zone out all the time. It's part of my stupidness."

Another annoying chuckle. "Actually, that's not true."

Sigh. "Fine, tell me why not."

"The doctors have already done some tests and it's been discovered that you have a hypersensitive and hyperactive brain. It means that you are thinking far faster than the rest of us are and you are more likely to go off on tangents than us. If that's actually cultured, you could become the world's best detective."

"Yeah, whatever man." After a few minutes of silence, Mail just shook his head. "One more question, buddy, then I'll answer yours."

"Yes?"

"Where are my parents?"

He answered without missing a beat. "Your father was shot on arrest and he died the next day. You're mother is in jail awaiting her trial for illegal drug use, child abuse, etcetera." Mail was silent. Mr. Wammy just waited patiently for the young boy to answer his question. Indeed, this child had much potential, but all of that baggage he was carrying was going to weigh heavily on him all his life. It might ruin all chances of his becoming the next L.

"Fine. When do I go?"

"We'll leave tomorrow."

**Author's Notes: Well, I imagine that Mail's mom and dad were once very good looking, but drugs will screw you up. Heh, and my Watari is so blunt. He doesn't to raise weak children, so by seeing their reaction to their situations he is able to sort through L wannabes pretty quick. If he just wants them for their skills in the arts, he's not quite so mean. Also, I apologize for the super long sentences that were Matt's thinking! Since he has a hyperactive mind, that was the only way I could think of showing it. To be honest, I couldn't even begin to write how fast he really does think. That's just a taste of it. XD**

**Thank you for all the lovely reviews! **

**Tsukiyo- Well, in the anime it's really hard to tell. Sometimes his eyes has this greenish color and sometimes it's bluish. Because of this (and his eyes are just darn gorgeous), I will usually refer to them as aquamarine or turquoise. Something to that effect. His eyes change colors depending on the surroundings, so in that instance they looked green. XD At least that's how I will be writing it as. Thank you for pointing that out though; I meant to address it and never did. Also, I looked up Mello's last name, Keehl, and found that it was Slovene and that's why I made him Slovenian. **

**Please review and let me know what you guys thought!  
**


	5. Freedom

**Yay! An update so soon! This baby isn't betaed, so all mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment on them. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or its characters**

**Warnings: Matt has a potty-mouth and B is B.  
**

_Drip._

The pitter patter of water hitting the windshield nearly drove the small brunette crazy. At the same time, it brought him a sense of comfort. It was constant and it reminded him of the color purple. Purple, just like his bruises; it was as if England was hurting too.

"Don't cry," he whispered against the cold glass. His warm breath fogged up a small patch of the window and his moving lips marred the milky moisture on the smooth pane. "Don't cry."

"What did you say?" Mr. Wammy asked kindly as he looked in the rear view mirror.

Mail just shut his eyes and tried to focus on the sounds, not the pain. Pulling away from the window, he tugged the soft material of the oversized hoodie further over his eyes. A few more minutes passed in silence before the car came to a halt. The sick feeling in the boy's stomach lurched making him squeeze his eyes shut in pain. He hated this so much, but there wasn't any alternative. No one wanted a broken boy and staying with his family was impossible. Hugging his knees tightly, Mail curled up and tried to swallow down the pain that wanted to tear through his throat. Even the sound of his door opening didn't make him budge.

"Mail, we're here," Mr. Wammy said kindly. When the American didn't even budge, the old gentleman just reached over and unbuckled the kid.

Chuckling to himself, Quillsh could just imagine the look on Roger's face when he brought this child in. He had thrown almost everything imaginable at his old chap and the man had taken it with the grace of a proper British man, but this was something else. Never before had he brought a child to Wammy's House that was inflicted with an addiction. Sure, there were plenty of obsessive compulsive children in the house, but a mere five-year-old suffering from withdrawal was probably going to make Roger tear what little of his hair he had left.

Lifting the starved child easily, he carried him into the warmth of the orphanage. The cooling rain collected a little on his mustache making the older man sniffle a little, but he didn't mind. Refreshing rain like this was something that he always missed when he was traveling the world with his young charge.

"Mr. Wammy, it's good to see you," one of the young nannies greeted as she chased around one of the younger children. "I'll get Roger once I-" the rest of her sentence was cut off as she rounded the corner.

Quillsh just continued with the shivering child in his arms. One look at the kid was enough to see that he was going to be getting sick real soon. Getting him to one of the open rooms would be a better idea than taking him to Roger first. As he headed towards the stairs, a flash of red from the kitchen made him pause. Dark eyes looked up and the smear of a red sticky substance upturned into a smile on the boy's face. However, what caught his attention wasn't the lack of proper eating etiquette, but the dark makeup under his eyes and the choppy hair cut.

"Hello, Wammy," the boy welcomed with false cheerfulness.

"Hello, B. How many times have I asked you to eat your jam with a spoon and not your fingers?"

Looking at the sweet goop on his fingers, Beyond shrugged before sticking the digits into his mouth. A soft popping sound accompanied the exiting fingers before he wiped them on his stained jeans.

"Somewhere around 784 times."

"And why haven't you obliged, young man?"

The fake smile curled on those lips again before he deemed to respond.

"That kid looks like he's about to get sick on your new knickers."

"We will talk later," Quillsh said before hurrying along with Mail. Indeed, he was wearing new shoes.

A few short moments later, the brunette was leaning over a toilet, throwing up what was left in his stomach. This was the fourth time he threw up that day alone and he needed to get some liquid in the kid's system before his dehydration worsened. Sighing softly, he patted the boy's head. He needed a decent shower and a pair of scissors needed to get acquainted with that rat's nest of hair.

"Quillsh? Ah, there you-"

Roger paused as he saw the newest addition to the Wammy's House.

"Roger, I trust that you've been doing well?"

It took Roger a moment to hold down all the curses that were no doubt tempting him, but he managed. "Of course."

"L made it here without any undue attention?"

"Of course, Quillsh. No one saw him."

"Please explain Beyond's newest fashion sense, my old friend."

The sound of Mail heaving was the only noise in the small room as Roger shook his head and rubbed his temples. Trying to keep with all of these brats was undoubtedly the cause of his ulcers. Quillsh's obsession with children would never make sense to him.

"I have no idea where that started, but I have a mind that he's just being a clever clogs **(1)**. He must have heard some of the nannies talking about L, that's all."

"You're certain?" the older man asked softly. Roger just stared at him in annoyance before Quillsh just chuckled and patted the boy's back in a comforting manner. "Sorry, you know how I am when I have to leave him for any amount of time."

"That I do. He's not much better off when you're not around. It might be wise to let him learn a little independence or he won't be able to function once you're not around anymore."

"Ah, but there'll be plenty more years before something like that happens."

"Keep telling yourself that," Roger retorted with a smile. "Now, who's this?"

"His Christian name is Mail and his last name is Jeevas."

"Hn, did you already give him his new name?"

"He's been too sick for that, so I'll leave it up to you to give him the news."

"So what's he got? The flu?"

Ah, here was the tricky part. Giving all of the information to Roger without having him find new and creative ways of cursing.

"Let me get him into a room first, and then I'll tell you everything."

At this, Roger crossed his arms. Wammy was screwing him over again; there was no doubt about that. Still, he held his tongue and helped the older man get Mail situated into one of the rooms. The poor boy was already feverish and his groaning was steadily getting louder. Calling a nanny to attend him, Quillsh pulled Roger aside and gave him the news. Before Roger could dish out a proper tongue-lashing, a certain blond-haired child squealed in delight and attached himself to Mr. Wammy's leg.

"Wammy!" Mello cried happily. He looked between the men's legs for a moment before looking up in a pout. "Where's Loyal? I wanna play with him again!"

Snorting in amusement, Quillsh lifted up the boy into his arms and coddled him for a moment.

"He's not feeling well, so he can't play right now."

"Aww, poor Loyal! Does he need a kiss to make him feel all better?" There was nothing but innocence in those turquoise eyes and the old man couldn't help but feel touched at the thoughtfulness. Even the nannies around here would rather deal with Beyond's eating habits than attend a sick L.

"I'm sure he'll be fine, but thank you for offering."

"Well, you make sure to kiss him for me, ok?" the worried child begged. He really would hate for Loyal to be sick and not get better because no one gave him a kiss.

"Hehehe, I will."

A loud groan from the closed door made Mello jump before clinging to the man's jacket.

"What's that?" he whispered as his eyes widened to a near impossible size.

"Well, that's a new boy I brought here. He's not feeling very well either, so it's best if you just leave him alone."

"But…he sounds like he's hurting, Wammy!"

"Sick people are usually in some kind of pain," Roger snapped before pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's about dinner time, so run off Mello."

The blond pouted as he held on to the older man for a little while longer, but food was too tempting to keep him away long. Wiggling out of Wammy's arms, he gave the door one last long glance.

"He will be fine," Quillsh assured the child. "Oh, and I brought you this from America."

Hearing that he had a gift, the child perked up and danced around the two of them impatiently as the kinder of the two men struggled to pull something out of his jacket's pocket. In only a moment, a dark brown wrapper with the words HERSHEY written neatly on it was handed to the jumping boy.

"Thank you!" he cheered loudly as he spun around with the rectangular gift held firmly in both hands.

"Eat it after dinner, all right?"

"I will, I will, I _will_!"

Golden hair brushed the ruddy cheeks as he spun around recklessly. Both bare feet hopped on the plush carpet carelessly as the sheer joy of receiving a present expressed itself in an impromptu dance. Pausing in his happy dance, Mello took the time to stick his tongue out at Roger before tearing down the hall towards the dinning room. Out of habit, Roger nearly chased after the boy to give him a proper whipping, but Quillsh held his arm and chuckled at the energy all young people seemed to have. It was always refreshing to see happy children causing all kinds of mischief. It really did do his heart good. L wasn't exactly the kind of child to do a happy dance if he received a gift; no, he was more likely to just stare at you in an attempt to send a psychic "thank you" to the giver. That or just stare at you.

"Quillsh, if that boy is not properly disciplined, he will get out of control!"

"He's fine, Roger."

Sighing, Roger rubbed his temple again. His friend no doubt enjoyed giving him these headaches just to see if he could handle it, and by gosh he was going to handle it with the grace a man of his age should have.

"Well, let us get dinner and you can update me on anything else I should know."

"Very well."

~_~_~_~_~_

By the time that Quillsh and L left Wammy's House, most of the children were temporarily being moved downstairs and away from a very loud boy suffering from withdrawal. His screams echoed throughout the building, scaring most of the children. Only a few of the older kids like Beyond were allowed to stay upstairs since they could just sleep through the racket.

"George, carry that for Lucas!"

"Ack, watch those steps!"

"Are there any sleeping bags left?!"

The nannies had their hands full trying to tend to all the children and although a few of the older kids lent a hand, most of them just hung around the television or in their rooms. All of the moving around concerned Mello and the sounds coming from upstairs really bothered him. Why wasn't anyone going to ask how that boy was doing? Didn't they care? Hiding in the cupboard under the stairs, the blond remembered how his mother used to hold him whenever he got sick. She would pull him up against her warm breasts and she would kiss the top of his head in between the verses of a lullaby. He had always gotten better when she did that. The familiar tightening in his chest grew stronger as he pulled his knees to his chest. Did that boy have a mommy who would do that for him? Well, maybe not. He _was_ in an orphanage.

Peeking out at the chaos, Mello decided that if he went missing for a little while longer, no one would mind. After all, no one was concerned about him now. Slipping out of his secret spot, he ran up the stairs and headed towards the room that everyone seemed so keen on avoiding. The poor guy probably didn't even eat anything lately.

"What're you doing?" asked a familiar voice, making the boy jump in surprise. Looking behind, he saw B peeking through the crack of his door.

"Oh, um, I want to see how the new guy," he replied as he walked over to the older boy. "He sounds so sad, and I want to make him feel better."

"Oh? And how are you going to do that?" B asked as Mello forced the door open a little wider.

"Give him kisses of course," Mello replied without missing a beat. "And I need to sing a song for him."

B watched curiously as the smaller boy took a hold of his larger hand and rubbed it against his own warm cheek. That boy always seemed so warm and soft and it puzzled the older boy. He had always been cold and hard, like a jagged piece of ice. What would it have been like if he was soft and warm like Mello?

"Sing a song?" he mumbled as he easily lifted the smaller boy. He nuzzled the warm neck until Mello giggled and began wiggling around in his grip.

"Y-yeah, a (giggle) song."

"Then I shouldn't hold you up," he replied as he set the boy down. "Go give him your kisses and songs."

"Want to come with me?" Mello asked, making the older boy chuckle.

"No, I think he'll like it better if you go alone."

"Ok. Oh, and Loyal leans over more," Mello informed him as he slouched his little shoulder to show him what he meant. "You really are getting good at this game!"

A genuine smile that didn't reveal itself often spread across his lips as Beyond wondered if such an innocent creature really could exist. Surely the world would devour his entire being and spit it out a mangled mess.

"Yes, copy-cat is fun, isn't it?" Slouching over more, he gently closed the door as Mello made his way to source of the screams.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Fucking shit, let me die!" Mail screamed to no one in particular as he writhed in agony on the cold floor.

He had fallen off the bed a long time ago, and he was in no shape to get back on it. Everything was spinning around him, faster and faster, making him even sicker. If there was anything left in his stomach he would have surely thrown up again. Instead, all he could do was heave painfully against the old wood before another tremor of pain would shoot through him, forcing another scream from his wretched little body. He was tired and didn't want to feel pain anymore, but he couldn't fall asleep. Every time he tried to drift off, the knot in his stomach would tighten until he was sure that it would crush all of his insides.

"Argh! God, someone, make it stop!"

Some words managed to nestle between the screams and groans, but no one ever answered. There was no one who cared, a god or otherwise. Was this really better than his home? Back in New York City he didn't have to worry about food that much, he had a nice blanket, and his sister…oh god, his dear baby sister.

Tears streaked his bruised face and joined the drops of blood that made their way down to the floor. His own nails dug into his arms as he curled up, gasping, praying that it would all go away. Was his sister feeling this same thing? Was she curled up on her side begging for death to come sweep her away?

"Wow, you're even louder in here," a small voice stated. If Mail hadn't been sobbing at the moment, he might not have even heard it. "Um, are you ok?"

"Fucking hell, do I look alright?!" he screeched at the blurry figure a few feet away from him.

A sigh. "Come on, I don't think it's very comfortable on the floor."

Small warm hands grabbed under his armpits and began tugging him towards the bed. His shaky legs tried to help, but all they did was kick weakly at the hardwood floor. Still, those hands kept trying. He got dropped once, twice, but on the third try he was successfully being shoved onto the bed. Grunting from the person pushing him was drowned out by another shriek of agony. Mail felt like his head was about to explode, and he couldn't take it! The pressure was building too much; he really was going to die! Clawing at his face, he screamed and screamed, but persistent little hands took a hold of his own sweating hands and held them down.

"Shhhh, it's ok, it's all going to be ok." A soft kiss was pressed against the burning forehead before his face was pulled into a soft flat chest. "There, there, you can sleep now."

Mello did his very best to imitate his mother. He held the thrashing boy against his chest and kissed the top of his smelly head as he let the familiar Slovene words dance across his tongue and over his lips. The boy continued to cry and struggle against him, but he refused to let go. Something inside of him was afraid that if he let go, this boy might never get better.

Although he wasn't religious by any means, Mail couldn't help but think that he was hearing the angels singing. The words were soft and tickled his ears and the voice was nothing short of supernatural. Surely nothing on this sick twisted planet sounded that good. His hazed mind saw the golden hair, the pale skin and it suddenly seemed to make sense. He was dying and an angel was sent to sing him to heaven. Crying softly, he couldn't help but feel the relief washing over him. There was no longer any need for struggling or suffering, it was all ending for him. Of course, he was hoping that Kennedy wasn't going through any of this. She deserved a long happy life, and he would be sure to watch over her from the clouds up in the sky.

"I'm ready," he choked out. "Take me away."

Mello paused in his singing to smooth back some of those wild bangs. "I can take you outside, but you have to get better, ok?"

A tired sigh was his only response.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Am I in heaven?" Mail asked as the boy beside his bed spooned him some thick creamy soup.

"Huh? Would you be eating clam chowder in heaven?"

"Bleh, hell no." Another spoon. Swallow. "I'd be having hot dogs and fries."

"What are 'fries'?"

"Heh, they're like potatoes all cut up and fried in oil."

"Yuck, that doesn't sound yummy at all."

"You're dumb, that's why."

A slap to the back of his head made the brunette glare at the _slightly_ taller boy. Before he could retaliate with a slap of his own, another spoonful of the chowder was shoved down his throat. Looking at his foreign surroundings, Mail couldn't help but notice that the entire place was…clean. Sniffing at the air, he couldn't smell piss and drugs. It was just air.

"Do want some water now?" Mello asked as he noticed the brunette drift off into his own thoughts.

Shaking his head, Mail nodded. "Sure."

As the meal was finishing up, a gentle knock on the door made the both of the jump. A dark-haired lady peeked around the door and smiled as she saw the two of them.

"How are you feeling, little guy?"

Mail bit his lip and looked away. He didn't feel like answering any more questions.

"He's been doing fine," Mello answered for him. "Did you need something?"

"Well, Roger was going to come in and give him his new name if he was feeling up to it."

When the boy refused to answer, Mello once more stepped up to the plate and assured the woman that he was feeling well enough to see Roger. As soon as she left, Mail turned on Mello and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

"What the fuck does she mean?! Are they changing my damn name too? Isn't it enough that they ruined my motherfucking life?!"

"Er…" Curse words were not something that Mello learned from National Geographic, so all of those strange words confused him. What was this boy going on about?

"I ain't gonna let them take my fucking identity. No way, brother."

"I'm not your brother," Mello stated wondering if that fever really had messed with the other boy's mind.

"It's a saying from TV."

"Oh, that action box?"

Mail gave the other boy a strange look. "Where exactly do you come from?"

"Ljubljana," he replied, not at all aware that not many people even knew where that was.

"Lchublaga?" Mail tried as he crinkled his brow. "Where the fuck is that?"

Roger chose that moment to walk in and looked utterly dumbstruck at the boy's language. Stomping over to the both of them, he set his hands on his hips and stared down at the two of them in a menacing manner.

"Young man, watch your tongue! We don't allow that kind of language here!"

"What, you mean, 'fuck'?" Mail asked in mock-innocence. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-"

"Enough!" Roger roared, startling the both of them. "I will let you off the hook this one time because you are new, but no more! Here is the rule: if you disobey me, I will discipline you, period. I am not afraid of bringing out the switch, so watch your filthy mouth." Both of the boys remained quiet so he continued. "Now, you've been given the name Matt, so that's how you will be referred to from now on. Never let anyone know your real name. That's all."

Turning on his heel, Roger left the room with a slam of the door. After a few minutes, Mail turned to Mello and stared at him for a little bit. When Mello noticed the staring, he began shuffling his feet in discomfort.

"What?" he finally asked.

"My name's Mail Jeevas, what's yours?"

"I'm Mello," he replied a little surprised at the other's outspokenness. "Well, my real name is Mihael Keehl."

"Mihael…well, that's easier to say than Klachika, or wherever the hell you came from."

"Don't call me that though," Mello said softly. "It's my secret, our secret."

Mail looked at him thoughtfully before smiling and patting him on the head. He liked this guy a lot and he was sure that they were going to be the bestest of all friends. Besides, he was kind of cute. That hair cut really made him look like a girl and if he hadn't asked then he was sure that he would have never figured out that Mello was really a dude.

"What's today's date?" he asked curiously.

"Um, it's February 10, or something like that."

"Well, happy birthday to me," Mail muttered to himself.

"Oh, is it your birthday?!"

"No, it was on the first day of February."

"HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY!!!" Mello screamed, shocking the younger boy. "And a happy new years!"

"Dude, I think you got that wrong…"

"Eh?!"

~_~_~_~_~_

A bath, the worst thing that man-kind had ever invented. Hell, the nuclear bomb couldn't even begin to compare. The second worse thing? Scissors. Yeah, motherfucking scissors. Mail learned this the hard way two weeks after arriving at Wammy's House. By this time, he was recovered enough for grooming and the nannies were more than happy to oblige. Even Mello had to thank God for his friend finally getting a bath. Five hours of hard work later, and Mail came out looking like a presentable young man. His skin had been scrubbed until the dirt submitted and his hair had been nearly completely chopped off. All of the hair from the top of his ears down was buzzed, and the rest of it was hacked at with the scissors until they could run a comb through it.

Mello jumped up when he saw his friend finally emerge from the bathroom. His skin was bright pink and his hair was shiny from a decent cleaning and a brush actually being used. Mail looked pretty angry, but Mello thought that he looked absolutely perfect. The cast was still on his arm, but the nurses said that it would be taken off in a week or so.

"Are you ready to play, Matt?" Mello asked excitedly as he approached the other boy.

"Grrr, still got damn water in my ears," he complained as he rubbed both ears.

"Um…playing outside will make that all better!"

"Liar. Besides, I can't go outside."

"Why?!" Mello whined as he walked beside the American boy. "It's fun!"

"I just can't." No, he didn't want his delicate eyes suffering anymore than they already did with this place. For some reason these people liked to open all the damn curtains.

"Are you scared of outside?" the blond tried to reason.

"No! I'm not scared, I just can't!"

"Wait, I have an idea! You won't have to be scared anymore!"

"Gah, Mello!" he called out uselessly. "I'm not scared!"

A few minutes later, Mello came running down the hall with a few things in his hands. Both cheeks were tinted red from the effort of running, but he smiled widely before dumping everything on the floor.

"First, we need sunscreen so we don't burn."

"Burn?!" Mail had never been out in the sun long enough to get a tan much less a sunburn and the sound of it terrified him. He just knew that the sun was an evil thing. "I'm not going outside where I can be fried!"

Regardless, Mello slathered the white cream all over his friend's face and arms. Next he lifted up two blankets. They were both red and looked like they had probably been stolen off of some unfortunate child's bed.

"Here, this way we can play superheroes! We'll be invincinible!"

"Um, invincible?"

"And here, swimming goggles for you so you don't squint so much!"

The plastic goggles were painfully slapped onto his head and Mail had every intention of telling Mello that this whole idea was garbage but then something amazing happened. It was gone, that horrible glaring light. The brunette gaped in awe as everything around him became clear and not all blurry like he was used to seeing things.

"What the…how did you…?"

Mello. Looking at the boy in front of him, Mail could feel a warm feeling spread throughout his chest. Although there was an orange tint to everything, he could clearly see his angel, the very boy who pulled him from death itself. An unbelievably large smile was plastered on his face and a chubby hand was outstretched towards him in an invitation. Could he really go outside without it hurting?

Slowly, he took a hold of that hand and he was dragged out. He hesitated for a moment at the back door, but with a small tug he stepped out into the sunlight. For the first time in his entire life, it didn't hurt. It didn't hurt one bit.

Cool air swept past him, running its tendrils through his freshly untangled hair and flowing into his small lungs. The entire landscape was laid out before him and there was nothing that could stop him. Feeling the weight of the blanket around his neck, Mail couldn't help but feel every bit as invincible as Mello said he would be. Squeezing the hand that he was still clenching, Mail took a deep breath and just felt the sun stroking his skin.

"Are you ready?" Mello whispered with a few giggles.

Smiling back, Mail nodded eagerly. He was going to play outside for the first time in his life. "Yeah."

Both boys took deep breaths and began screaming at the top of their lungs as they ran down the large grassy hill. They weren't mere mortals that could break and be hurt. No, they were superheroes, far above the frailties of man. They were children that couldn't be touched by supposed reality: they were free.

**Author's notes: (1) a British term meaning "wise guy"**

**Now you may be confused as to why I have Mello calling Mail "Matt" while I continue to refer to him as "Mail", but there **_**is**_** a reason for that. While "Matt may be his name now, he still thinks of himself as "Mail". But don't worry, but by the next chapter I'll refer to him at "Matt" all the time. Also, this is the first story that I've ever had where two old people are talking to each other. For some reason I felt really weird about writing that whole scene. -shrug-**

**Well, I hope you all enjoyed that! Please review and let me know what you guys think. I am always happy to see reviews (who isn'?). Heh, and don't expect such a quick update next time, lol.  
**


	6. Bruised Heel

**Uwah! O_O I've been updating RIDICULOUSLY fast. Hehehe, don't get too used to this! Thank you for all those who read/reviewed/favorited/alerted. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter as well!  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, Mega-man, or Game Boy**

Cool spring air blew past, bringing with it the smell of freshly cut grass and the upcoming rain. Blond hair swayed in the breeze lightly, as if it were dancing to a beat that was hidden away in his mind. Sighing, the European boy looked down at his partner and saw that he was still playing that thing called a Game Boy. Ever since he discovered that thing, Matt had his nose practically glued to the screen. Mello looked at the grey screen and tried to figure out what the heck was so special about it.

"Matt, let's play before it rains," he whined.

"Just gimme a minute," the boy mumbled, furrowing his brow in concentration. Mega-man was kicking ass right now.

Mello looked longingly across the grass as it swayed lightly, enticing him. The white and black ball wobbled in the wind as well as if begging him to kick it. Well, Matt could sit there and play his stupid game, but the blond decided that he was going to have some _real_ fun.

"(Huff) I'm not going to sit around waiting for you! Just play that dumb game and I'll play ball by myself."

"Ok."

Frustration bubbled up in the older boy at his friend's disregard for his feelings. He really wanted to play with Matt, but the brunette would much rather stay inside. What kind of child would prefer to stay inside when there was a whole wide world out there? Maybe it was just because he had been raised inside that tiny room all his life, but Mello was tempted by the open air and the soft grass. Yes, he would much rather play a game of football than sit around inside watching that action box Matt called a TV.

Shoving the boy to show his disapproval, Mello turned and ran wildly to the ball while Matt continued to play the game on his side. "Whoa, nice move, Mega-man."

Bare feet ran over the cool grass before swinging back and connecting with the hard ball. A laugh erupted as the blond child watched the ball bounce far away. Grinning widely, he charged at the ball and kicked it again. The house got further and further away, but he didn't notice as he focused on trying to kick the ball farther. The front gates glistened for a moment in what little sunlight was left before a thick cloud swallowed up the golden light.

Mello was completely absorbed in his game and continued to unleash unkind kicks on the ball. He wasn't allowed to kick other children like that, but he could kick this ball. It brought a smile to his lips as he watched it sail through the air before plunking down on the ground and rolling a little further. Just as he pulled his leg back for a super powerful kick, a droplet of water fell directly onto his red nose.

"Eh?"

He rubbed his nose in surprise before blinking up at the overcast sky. A frown settled on his face as he realized that his little game was over now. He had to go inside or he would get all wet. Roger would yell at him and give him a good swatting if he came in all wet and ruined the carpet. Looking up defiantly at the sky, he stuck out his tongue at it.

"You're no fun!" he yelled as another drop of rain splashed on his forehead.

Looking down at the ball longingly, Mello thought hard. Surely _one_ more kick wouldn't hurt anything. After one kick he would go pick it up and head straight to the house. What could possibly happen? Coming to that conclusion, he pulled his leg back as far as it would go and kicked the ball as hard as he could. Black and white melded together as it spun through the air, bending a little before landing softly in a patch of longer grass.

"I'm the greatest kicker in the world!" Mello screamed happily. That was so far!

Taking a deep breath, the blond tore down the field to reach his ball. The burning feeling in his chest made him giggle; he never felt so alive! Just as he reached the area where his ball was, Mello's foot sank into a pot-hole making him tumble and roll over in the long grass. Rubbing his head, Mello looked around a little bit dizzily. What tripped him? Not seeing anything, he tried to stand so he could grab the football but a burning pain shot through his leg. With a cry he fell down to his knees.

Tears sprung in his eyes as the throbbing became more pronounced. Looking down at his foot he saw it all swollen and turning a funny color. When he tried to move it, he screamed in pain and started to cry in earnest. He had never felt such horrible pain in his life! A low rumble echoed across the grounds and raindrops began to fall with increasing speed. Soon, Mello was sitting out in the middle of a full-blown downpour.

~_~_~_~_~_

Matt paced nervously at the back door waiting for Mello to show up. Getting up on his tip-toes he looked through the glass window to see nothing but the rain. Where could Mello have gone? He went somewhere, but he didn't come back and it was scaring the brunette. It was dinner time, but he was too worried to go and eat with out his best friend. Beside, he had never been to dinner without his other half, so it would feel weird to do it now.

"Where did you go?" he whined as he tried again to see out the window on the door.

"Hm? What are you doing back here?"

Jumping at the sound of someone speaking to him, Matt wheeled around to stare at a suspicious red stain on a plain white t-shirt. Looking up higher, he saw dark eyes almost hidden behind the dark bangs of crazy hair. Sticky jam was smeared across the pale cheek and clung disgustingly to long white fingers. The young boy shrunk away from the scary sight and tried to hide in the shadow beside the door. Red glistening lips upturned as the taller boy watched the new kid shiver in fear. He never grew tired of seeing that kind of reaction. Only the little blond one didn't shrink away from him like that.

"I asked you a question," he tried again, this time kneeling down to be eye level with the sickly brunette. There were funny swimming goggles over his eyes, but that was inconsequential. "What are you doing back here when dinner is being served in the dining room?"

"M-mello," Matt stuttered, afraid that if he didn't answer this strange boy his innards would be the next thing to stain that shirt. "He h-hasn't c-come back."

"That's interesting," the older boy whispered, his sickeningly sweet breath washing over the terrified brunette. "Want some jam?" Sticky and wet fingers dipped into the jar before retracting with the red gelatinous substance clinging to them.

Trying not to look sick, Matt shook his head violently. There was no way he was going to eat _anything_ from those fingers. Who knew where they'd been?! "Not hungry," he choked out, turning his head away. This guy was really creeping him out and he felt the urge to pee his pants. Who wouldn't?

"Go to dinner," Beyond commanded softly before shoving the digits into his mouth and sucking on them thoughtfully.

Matt thought about arguing, but one stern glare from the older boy made him clamp his mouth shut and scramble towards the warm dining room. Maybe he would stop by the bathroom first…

Beyond watched to make sure that the little guy ran off before he hesitantly set his jar of jam on the linoleum floor. If Mello was out there, he was probably getting soaked to the bone and that wouldn't do at all. Things like that could make him sick. Grumbling about children's lack of common sense, he toed off his socks and wiped his fingers clean on his shirt. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he stepped out into the cold rain and stood still for a moment to adjust to the wet feeling. Dark hair fell over his eyes as the water weighed it down and he shivered at the feeling of water running down his back. With a shake of his head to remove the hair from his eyes, B began his search for a certain blond-hair child.

~_~_~_~_~_

Holding the slippery ball in his hands, Mello sat on the grass crying loudly. He had never been hurt like this before and the pain seemed to be too much for him to handle. Walking was completely out of the question and crawling with the ball was impossible. Still, he couldn't leave the ball out in the rain, or Roger would yell at him.

"M-matt," he sobbed as he buried his face in the leather covering of the ball. Why didn't his friend just come with him? If he were here, then Mello would be inside the warm house and not out in the cold rain. It was all that stupid game's fault, he concluded as he hiccuped.

Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and when he turned his head, the sight nearly paralyzed him. Beady little eyes were watching him while a pink tongue slipped out before hiding back in that scaly mouth. Aquamarine eyes widened in terror as he stared at the strange creature that looked an awful lot like the deadly python he read about in National Geographic. It was smaller of course, but a snake was a snake, and he was convinced that it was going to kill him.

Even more tears mingled with the rain running down his face as he tried to keep perfectly quiet. Maybe it wouldn't see him if he remained perfectly still. Unfortunately, it slithered forward a little closer to him making him sob loudly. He didn't want to die! What about Matt? He couldn't be by himself! And Loyal, and B! He wanted to play with them again and, and, and…

A shriek of terror tore from his throat as the small snake approached him. There was no escape, just certain death. Suddenly, a bare white foot stomped down on the head of the snake making a small cracking sound. The body of the snake wiggled around helplessly in its death throes, but Mello just cried in relief. Ignoring the rainwater that ran into his eyes, he looked up to see a familiar face.

"B!" he cried and held out his hands to be carried.

Cold fingers reached under his arms and easily lifted up the smaller child up and out of the muddy ground. Mello clung to his wet body as if he were afraid that B would disappear and leave him alone with the terrible grass snake. Lifting up his foot to see the crushed head, Beyond tilted his head and stared at the blood and grey matter seeping into the ground.

"And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; He shall bruise you on the head, and you shall bruise Him on the heel."

Sniffling, Mello looked up at the dark-haired boy. "W-what?"

"Nothing, just a verse from the Bible," he muttered. "It's of no consequence."

Leaning over, he picked up the muddy ball and carried it under one arm while he held up the clinging boy with the other thin arm. The rainwater made his t-shirt cling to his wiry body and his cold perked nipples were easily seen through the thin fabric. The said fabric was held tightly in the small chubby hand of the small blond as he held on for dear life. Adjusting his hand to rest on the boy's bottom, Beyond just focused on getting inside the house before they both caught a cold.

~_~_~_~_~_

"They should be given the L code as soon as possible," the voice on the other end of the line commanded.

Roger nodded his head in acknowledgement. "I agree. Matt might be able to keep up with the work since we know how intelligent he is, but I'm concerned about Mello. Unlike the other children, he hasn't shown any promising talents. For all we know, he might not be a genius."

"He did teach himself to speak English," Quillsh retorted with a chuckle. "Mello might make it look easy, but speaking English when all you know is Slovene is a difficult task."

"Fine, so he has good language skills. What else? How can he even be considered in the running for the next L?"

Another darn chuckle. "Calm down, Roger. Just because he receives the L code doesn't mean he's going to be the next L. We'll just see what happens. Who know? Maybe he'll surprise us all."

"I doubt that," the cynical old man replied with a sigh. "I doubt that very much."

"Well, I need to get L some more food before he starts complaining."

"I don't complain, Watari," a small voice was heard in the background. "I merely remind you of your duty to provide nourishment for my young body."

"Well, don't work yourself too hard," Roger replied with a grin. "You're not as young as you like to imagine you are."

"Nonsense," the elderly man snorted. "I'm quite young enough."

"He's right you know," that small voice interjected. "You might break a hip-bone if you stand in that position too long. Getting me some cake would certainly help your chances of keeping perfectly lubricated and healthy joints."

"I'll talk to you later," Quillsh said before the dial tone droned.

Sighing, Roger set the phone back on the cradle and shook his head. The next round of schooling bean in a few weeks, and he could throw Mello and Matt into the mix without disrupting too many things. First, he needed to give them some sort of placement tests so that he could organize study schedules.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts and he couldn't help but sigh. The only time people ever bothered to talk to him around here was to give reports on the children or to hand over an unruly child that needed to be spanked. No one ever bothered just to have a decent conversation about the weather, or the news…

"Can I come in?" asked an irritated voice of someone who was _not_ a nanny.

"B? Is that you?" he asked in surprise. "Come in, yes, come in."

Both eyes widened behind his spectacles as the drenched boy walked in. The white shirt was practically see-through and it was smeared with mud and a red substance that Roger was hoping was jam. Shaking his wet hair and splashing the old man with some of the cold water, Beyond tilted his head and looked down at the man still seated in his chair.

"I think Mello's sick," he stated emotionlessly.

"Eh, Mello's sick?" Roger was completely confused. What was B doing with Mello? "How did you-"

"He was in the rain," B responded as he scratched his neck. "Are you going to check him or not?"

"Uh, yes, I will," he replied before gathering his wits. "Good gracious, child, put something dry on! You're practically naked!"

B looked down and noticed uninterestedly that his bare chest was completely visible. He just shrugged his shoulders and began walking down the hall, his feet making squelching noises as he proceeded to soak the carpet with each step. There was also something stuck to the bottom of his foot that Roger would rather not know.

"Wait, where is he?" Roger called out as he slipped on his house slippers.

"In my bedroom," Beyond replied as if it were completely normal to have the small blond in there.

Widening his eyes, Roger headed straight for the older boy's room and found a soaked Mello tucked under the covers of the plain bed. His red face betrayed the fever that was attacking his body and a soft cough echoed in the otherwise empty room. B never did like unnecessary decoration.

"Great," he mumbled as he felt the wet forehead. "Just what I need, a sick child."

~_~_~_~_~_

"Am I going to die, Matt?" the blond croaked as he rested under the clean warm blankets.

His face was still red and his hair clung to his sweaty face. Snot continued to run from his nose, but he just grabbed another tissue and blew loudly. Matt looked up from the game and patted his friend's leg.

"No way. It's just a cold."

"Are you (cough) sure?"

"Yeah, Roger says so."

"O-ok."

It had been a long time since Mello had fallen ill and he had forgotten how bad it felt. Still, it was nothing compared to the pain that his twisted ankle was giving him. Greenish eyes looked at the propped limb and examined the white bandage.

"Does it hurt?" Matt asked as he noticed what Mello was staring at.

"Yeah," he said softly. It did hurt a whole lot more before, but once B brought him inside the house, he took the swollen foot carefully in his cold fingers and pressed a gentle kiss against it. Now the pain wasn't so bad. "But it's not too bad I guess."

Matt looked down at his feet where his baggy jeans were covering the braces that were keeping his healing ankles steady, he couldn't help but wonder if Mello had ever really felt pain before. He seemed so distraught over something like a silly cold and he had cried while the nurses wrapped up his ankle. Did all children do that?

"Did I say something wrong?" Mello asked, seeing how his friend looked sad. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't you," Matt said with a large smile. "I was just thinkin' you know."

Leaning back against his pillow, Mello stared at the white ceiling for a while. Matt went back to the Game Boy and they were silent. Only the small weird sounds from the handheld broke the silence. A young nurse came in after a while and checked up on the blond to make sure that he was drinking enough water.

"It's time for some sleep, you two," she said cheerily. "Say your goodbyes!"

She walked out and flipped off the lights. Matt sighed and shut off the game without saving it. Sliding off the bed, he was getting ready to walk away when he felt Mello grab the back of his shirt.

"Eh? What do you want?"

"Can you give…can you give me a kiss, Matt?" he asked softly. That was his mother's cure all, and he really did miss that. Her painted lips would always press gently against his forehead and she would whisper that sweet lullaby. He knew that Matt couldn't sing the lullaby, but he could at least give him a get-better kiss.

The brunette just gaped at the other boy for a moment. He wanted a kiss? Even in the darkness he could see the red face with his quivering lips as his strained breathing brushed past. Those large eyes were practically begging for the kiss and it made Matt get a strange feeling in his stomach. It was just like in TV when the girls would ask the sexy guy to kiss them and to make them into women. Swallowing hard, he wanted to say no, but the look that Mello was smothering him with was too much.

Turning a bright red, Matt approached the expectant blond who closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath and closing his own eyes, Matt leaned in and pressed a sloppy kiss to those soft pink lips. Mello's eyes shot wide open, and just as quickly as he pressed the kiss, the brunette pulled away.

"Good night," he forced out through his tightening throat before walking away very quickly. Mello just stared after him in confusion. What was that?

~_~_~_~_~_

Two different placement scores sat on Roger's desk. Looking down his spectacles, he shook his head in surprise. Matt did fairly well overall which was expected, but Mello flunked everything but the reading portion. He missed every arithmetic question, and his understanding of the natural world went only as far as National Geographic taught him. Abstract concepts completely escaped the child and he didn't even have any sense of art to make up for it. The picture he was supposed to draw contained very crude stick figures; one with goggles, one with red splashed all over him, and one with a giant donut in his mouth. Shaking his head, he looked over at Matt's picture and blushed at the inappropriate picture. That boy really did need to learn some decency and respect. His foul mouth scared the younger children and his American accent annoyed the older ones.

'_At least he isn't screaming like a banshee anymore,'_ Roger thought to himself. Mello had seemed to calm him down some, and that Game Boy did wonders for keeping his mouth shut.

Turning his attention back to the papers in front of him, the elderly Britain began writing up the schedules for the two boys. Mello would need a private tutor for most of his schooling because none of the children at Wammy's House was that uneducated, but he was sent to the advanced reading class. Reading some classics would do that child some good. As for Matt, he placed him in mid-level classes and added a special course: etiquette.

Once he finished with the class schedules, he leaned back against the chair he was sitting in. The older generation of children was practically already considered a lost cause to Quillsh, so their education focused on pulling out their talents while the younger generation was still given the chance to become the next L. Of course, the more artistically gifted children weren't forced to go through that trying education; they merely learned what was necessary and were given every opportunity to flourish in their arts.

Still, a few of the older children were showing signs that concerned him. A was withdrawing into himself more and more everyday, and B was…well, he was B. He was beyond any of their comprehension and it was getting a little worrisome, especially now that he seemed to show an interest in Mello. There was the possibility that B just wanted to be friends with the six-year-old, but he was starting to pass through puberty. If he hadn't already, he would become curious about his own sexuality and he might try toying with Mello to sate that curiosity.

Shaking his head, Roger was hoping that he was wrong. He would never allow any of the children to be hurt like that by anyone. Maybe he should let Quillsh know of his concern. After all, he was probably dealing with a sex-crazed L and would probably know what to do. Snorting at the idea of a sex-crazed L, he just shook his head. No, he couldn't bother Quillsh with all these problems. Besides, if L _was_ sex-crazed, the old buzzard would have his hands full anyway. Still, he couldn't see that stoic boy craving for anything but sugar. It was just too weird.

"Well, better get to work," he mumbled to himself as he looked back at the schedule. There were tutors to talk to, nannies to inform, classes to organize…

~_~_~_~_~_

"Matt, do you want my orange?" the older boy asked as he wrinkled his nose at the fruit.

The brunette looked up from his game at the blond sitting in the middle of the room with his large orange resting on the plate in front of him. They hadn't talked about the other night and Matt wanted to keep it that way. He was really embarrassed of what he did, but he was still curious as to why Mello made him do it. To be honest, he was hoping that Mello didn't want him to make a woman out of him, because he didn't think he could do something like that. Besides, he wasn't really sure how that would work with two guys.

Sure, he'd seen plenty of raunchy late night shows and the hooker neighbors he had would sometimes take their business to the halls, but that was always a girl and a guy. It was _never_ guy and a guy. Why was that? Well, it wasn't like he _wanted_ to do those things with Mello. He was just curious. Scratching his nose, Matt began to wonder if Mello wanted a kiss from him just because he was curious too. Since they were friends, it would be a lot less weird than going up to some random girl and asking her for a kiss. Yeah, that had to be it.

Mello stared at his friend who had been off in la la land for a while now. Getting bored, he threw his orange at him and it hit him right between the eyes. Being caught off guard, Matt yelped and fell off the bed with a loud thud. Smiling widely, Mello laughed at his friend's misfortune.

"Do you want the orange, Mattie?"

"Damn, you didn't have to throw the thing at me," he grumbled as he picked up the soft, peeled fruit. "Why don't you eat it? The nurses told you to, or you'd stay sick."

"I'll be fine," Mello pouted. "I don't like oranges 'cause they are too spicy."

"Spicy?" Matt questioned as he shoved a piece into his mouth.

"Um, maybe that's not the write word. It just doesn't feel good in my mouth."

"Maybe (munch) you mean too acidic?"

A shrug was his response. Wiping his nose with his sleeve, Mello watched as his best friend ate the food happily. He still remembered that funny kiss from the other night and still wondered why Matt did it. The idea that maybe Americans kissed different from Europeans seemed plausible, so he just tried to leave it like that. Besides, he _did_ get better, so maybe a kiss had healing powers no matter where you were kissed. Smiling, he wiped his nose again and stood up.

"Want to go play outside?" he asked.

"Ugh, that again?" Adjusting his goggles, he soaked in the sight before him. The sun was shining brightly behind Mello, making his hair glow and casting the rest of him in a shadow. It was weird. "How 'bout we go prank some people?"

"What's a prank?" Mello asked excitedly.

Smiling wickedly, Matt got to his feet. "I'll show you, ok?"

**Author's Notes: So yes, a child's imagination can make things look a hell of a lot worse than they really are! Mello probably seems really weak in this chapter, but it's really important to realize that he was a very sheltered child and doesn't know about pain or many other things. By the end of the chapter I realized that Matt seems to be the instigator instead of Mello, but once again, Mello is far more innocent than Matt is. Once he gets a taste of mischief though, and all that might change. XD So, just enjoy how they grow up and everything will fall right into place. **

**Next chapter: the beginning of Near's story**

**Please review and let me know what you think!**


	7. Devil's Doll

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, Legos, PBS, or Bill Nye the Science Guy.**

**Many thanks to all those who read/reviewed/favorited/alerted. It really did pump me up! Now, please enjoy the newest addition to Tattered! This is part one of Near's story. Hope you guys enjoy it.  
**

The smell of bleach was everywhere.

Small feet hung over the edge of the chair's seat, since the child's legs were so short. Rough rope bit sharply into the soft delicate skin, but no sound of pain was uttered. After all, this was routine.

"Y-yes, that's right." The woman's frantic voice carried through the thin walls. "I know it's the devil! Please, I've tried everything!"

Dark grey eyes counted the ceiling popcorn for the fortieth time that day. The sound of the door opening drew those eyes down to the sickly pale woman. Raven hair hung down to her thin waist and her wrinkle free clothing was impeccable. Even the tails on her shoelaces were exactly the same length. "Thank you, oh thank you! Yes…tomorrow is fine. No, the price isn't important, just getting my son back is. Yes. See you then."

Pressing a button on the cordless, the thin woman gave the small child a scrutinizing stare. Squatting down in front of him, she let a small smile break through her worried expression.

"Hi baby, how are you doing today?" she asked in a higher pitch.

Fear knotted in his stomach as he spoke the words he had rehearsed all night.

"Morning, Mama!" Good, it sounded like a natural, excitable child talking. The smile on his mother's face widened, but he could see her critical eye watching for any hint of a mistake.

"Did you sleep well?"

Again, another rehearsed line. "Um, I think so…but I dreamed of flying, Mama! You could fly too!" Good, another hurdle crossed.

"That's pretty cool. Do you want to play with me?"

"Yeah!"

Fear nearly flashed through those grey eyes, but the little boy had far more control than that. He had managed to pass the first part of the test just fine, so he just had to keep it up. Maybe she would get tired and take a nap today and he would be safe and free. Untying the painful rope, the woman carefully pulled her son off the chair and stood him up next to her.

"What do you want to play with?"

His first instinct was to ask for his Legos, but it would be hard to keep up the façade if chose that. Instead, he smiled sweetly and asked to play with the (cringe) "choo choo train".

"Of course, Nate!"

Taking his hand, she led him to the playroom. Although any lesser person would have relaxed on the short walk, Nate refused to let up the act, even a little. Those wide eyes of his mother was ever watchful and he could not falter.

Once in the playroom, he went straight for the colorful plastic train that rested on the perfectly clean carpet. Plopping down like any child would, he began to move the train back and forth. After a good 30 seconds, his concentration began to waver. Doing something like this was so…mundane. Still, the eyes of his mother were staring; she was just waiting for a single mistake, a reason to let her fury loose. Seeing the row of different toy men near his mother's feet, Nate looked up at her with a sweet innocent smile and outstretched his hand.

"Can I have the conductor, Mama?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the small child froze. He had just made a mistake. Panic shot through his body as he hoped, no, _prayed_ that she didn't notice, but it was futile. She always noticed.

"'Conductor' is such a big word, Nate," she said with a slight twitch of her upper lip. A near inhuman scream tore from her throat as she launched herself at the toddler. Slaps and bony fists rained down on the boy. Clenching his eyes shut, his tiny hands tried to protect his delicate face. "Get out of my child, demon!" she roared in fury. "You can't hide from me, I'm always watching! Always!"

"I-I'm not a demon, please," Nate begged, but it was to no avail; it never was.

"Ha, you think your words will sway me, Beelzebub?! Never!" Grabbing the back of his pants, the crazed woman hauled him to the broom closet and tossed him into it. "The last priest may have failed to exorcise you, but this one won't! He'll free my son from your wicked grasp!"

Grabbing her Bible from the living room, she slammed it on the floor in front of the closet door and seated herself right next to it. Flipping it open, she began to read the scriptures with increasing volume. Trish Rivers read frantically, as she had done every day for the past seven months, hoping that her dedication would either drive out the devil or strengthen her son trapped within. Physical food and water were forgone completely in lieu of the spiritual food she threw at her boy.

Sniffling, Nate curled up as best as he could in the small closet while he stuck his thumb into his mouth and sucked on the digit. His free hand reached up to his hair and a chubby finger curled some of his pale hair around it. He just didn't understand what was wrong with him. His beautiful and loving mother used to pamper and care for him, but as soon as he learned to talk, all of that changed. She never looked at him the same again. She would yell at him and hit him, screaming that he spoke like a man and that the devil had possessed him. Even strange men called "priests" would come in to exorcise the devil, but all it did was bruise his delicate body and scare the wits out of him.

What had he done wrong?

Hours passed in a haze of hunger, pain, and scriptures. Darkness began to fall and Nate was starting to nod off. The sound of the front door opening, however, broke the monotony of the scripture reading. Perking up, Nate pulled his slick and wrinkled thumb out of his mouth with a "pop" and sat up. It was only a few seconds before the sound of his father's weary footsteps paused beside his mother. A briefcase was set down and the man knelt beside his wife.

"Trish, it's time to stop," he sighed as he rested his hands on hers. Jonas knew better than to pull the Bible away as she was reading, a scar stretching under his eye a constant reminder.

First, he needed to calm her down with soothing words and soft caresses. Once she finally stopped reading, he would gently pull her away and take her to the bedroom for a nap. As soon as she was out of the picture, he would put the Bible away and then unlock the closet his son was in. The routine was so familiar to the boy that he could predict how long it would take his father to free him.

The door clicked open revealing a handsome young man with worry etched on his face. But no, it wasn't worry for Nate. It hadn't been worry for him in a long time. "Come on, Nate," he sighed as he held out his hand.

Thankful for being saved, the sickly child clung to his father's hand. They walked quietly to the small nursery where Nate had grown up. Cool blue paint decorated the walls and freshly washed sheets were spread out on his bed. Stuffed animals were neatly line up against the wall and all his toys were put away in color coded containers.

"Nate, we need to talk."

Grey eyes shifted up in surprise. This was definitely something out of the norm; usually, his father would take him to his room and then leave to comfort his mother. "Yes, Daddy?"

The young man sat his son on the soft clean bed before he took a seat next to the boy. Jonas didn't hold his boy, didn't touch him, didn't do anything but sit on the bed with him.

"Your mother is dying," he started as he stared at the door. Nate looked up in a mixture of alarm and confusion. Death was a foreign concept to him, but the gravity of his father's tone let him know that it was something serious. "Actually, it would be more accurate to say that you're killing her. She just can't take this anymore."

"Daddy…I don't understand," Nate whimpered as he reached out to touch his father's arm.

"You're just too much, Nate. I don't hold it against you, really, I don't. You can't help that you're sickly or that you're not normal. But it's gotten to be too much." The young man continued to stare at the door, as if distancing himself from the small child clutching at his sleeve would make his decision less painful. "You see, me and your mother weren't expecting to have a child. We were both young and stupid. Then you came along and even though your mom was rejected by everyone she loved, she kept you and tried to raise you. But it's hard, it so terribly hard."

Nate wasn't sure why, but his eyes were watering. Something bad was going to happen and he didn't really know why. Was he just not being a good enough boy? Did he have too many toys? Or watch too much PBS?

"The sickness is hard enough to deal with and it's put Trish on a bunch of medication just to deal with the stress. Still, we were dealing with it, we were working it out. Then you had to…well, I don't really even know what this is. For heaven's sake, you use words like 'reconciliation'! And you have full blown debates with your toys! A few months ago, you weren't even talking and now?"

Still, the man wasn't through letting loose everything that he had been dealing with. "And the way you look at us like…like…well, it doesn't matter. Maybe you do have a demon possessing you, maybe you don't. It really doesn't matter."

"D-don't you l-love me anymore, Daddy?" His childish reasoning led him to this heartbreaking conclusion. He did something wrong and now his parents didn't love him. Large tears rolled down the chubby cheeks leaving behind angry red streaks.

"That's no the point," his father sighed as he tried to stop his son's crying. "Stop crying," he chided softly. "You know that you're allergic to your tears. But Nate, what I'm trying to say is that I made a vow to protect your mother until the day one of us dies. I married her, Nate, not you. So, I have to protect her and right now that means that I have to take you away from her."

"G-go away?" the delicate boy hiccuped.

"Yeah, but it won't be for forever. If Trish gets better, we can come back and get you." The truth was that Jonas didn't really believe that he would ever come back for this boy. His delicate wife would never be able to handle Nate without going crazy again.

The small child sobbed quietly as he watched his father pack his things up. This was something way out of the ordinary and he had no idea what to do. His entire life revolved around patterns and consistency and this sudden change frightened him as much as his father's cold words. Still, his face hurt too much to keep up the crying. He was left to sit on the bed and wait.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Is this Nate?" a small lady with big puffy hair asked as she looked at the shivering boy clenching his stuffed rabbit.

"Yes."

The young man sounded tired, but he resolved to finish this. It was sad, Nate thought, that after all the years he had spent sheltered in his parents' arms, it only took ten minutes to be given away to a stranger. Papers were signed, a picture was taken, and a file was created. Something hurt in the little boy's chest as he watched his father walk away without saying goodbye.

"You'll be alright," the woman tried to comfort, but Nate ignored her. Instead, he just squeezed his stuffed animal tighter.

~_~_~_~_~_

It didn't take very long before an older couple adopted the sad yet beautiful child. They brought him presents when they came to visit and they would hold him tenderly every chance they had. Both adults were a little heavy set and they had open happy faces. Still, they weren't his parents, and Nate did not return their affections. Their presents would remain untouched and he would just sit patiently on their soft laps until he was allowed to go back to his own toys. No amount of chiding from the service worker could convince him to treat the couple any better.

Nate was sure that once the two realized what a handful he would be to take care of, they would just abandon him. After all, that's what his parents did. Why would some other people think that they could handle such a difficult child as himself? Unfortunately, those two didn't seem to care that he needed so much medication or that he wasn't sociable. They didn't even care that he would wordlessly throw their gifts in the trash in front of them. It seemed that they were oblivious to the negative things.

Another child who had been in the orphanage a lot longer explained that most parents didn't care how much of a hassle a kid was as long as they were cute. This was an endless source of confusion for Nate as he pondered that. If that were the case, surely his own parents wouldn't have given him away. How many times had he heard his mother and father call him "cute" or "adorable"?

Still, a few weeks later the large and loud couple took him away from the small orphanage and brought him to a cluttered but large house out on a dainty farm. A few more children were at play in the spacious front yard. It didn't look like much fun to Nate, so he squeezed his companion, the stuffed rabbit, for comfort. He was hoping that those much larger children didn't intend to play as roughly with him. If they did, he would shatter into a million pieces.

"Lookie there," the woman said loudly, "all them kids are out here ta greet you!"

That wasn't a comforting thought to the scared little boy. If they tried to hug him all at once he be sent to hospital for broken bones.

"Don't ya worry," the man said with a smile as he parked the truck. "You'll be just fine."

Thankfully, as he was getting unbuckled from the car seat, Nate was quick enough to cling desperately to the tall man. Laughing, his adoptive father hauled him up out of reach of most of the kids. At least, that's what Nate thought.

Getting nearer to the group of children, the young boy was horrified to see that two of the three children were boys that came up to the man's shoulders and the only girl was only a few inches shorter. A house of giants was not Nate's idea of a safe environment.

"Aw, lookie there!" the blond girl exclaimed. "He looks like a scared little kitten!"

"Looks more like a sheep to me," the tallest boy replied as he stared the the mop of curly white hair.

"That ain't no sheep," the younger boy retorted as he shoved his brother. "That's a baby poodle, there."

Nate never missed home as much as he did at that moment.

~_~_~_~_~_

It took Nate several months to adjust to the new life on the farm. The family went to church every Sunday which would give him nightmares of being in that suffocating closet with his mother screaming the Holy Scriptures in an attempt to exercise the demon from him. They also had huge meals where everyone sat at the table and yelled about their day. The "new daddy" worked outside most of the day while the three children went to school and the "new mommy" went to school as a lunch lady and janitor. Since Nate was shy and easily prone to sickness, new daddy was left in charge of home schooling the boy any chance he had.

People everywhere would whisper about the small delicate child as if he wasn't there, saying all manner of things. They would praise the parents for taking on such a difficult and strange child (which would only make new mommy's head swell) or they would talk about how terrible it was that he wouldn't play with the other children. In all honesty, even the younger children at church would whisper about him. They would keep away so that there wouldn't be even a minute chance of Nate talking to them and then they would wonder why he wouldn't play like them. Even his own new siblings would say things about him, calling him "sheep" and other strange things. All of them would always laugh at the small child's expense and no one bothered asking how he felt about anything.

Even with all of the confusing and frustrating things going on, none of it was as terrible as home schooling.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Nate out of the illustrated book he had been reading. Quickly, he dropped the book and crawled under the couch. It was a tight fit, but this discomfort was far better than what his new daddy did to him.

The older man walked into the living room and chuckled when he saw it empty. "Nate, why're you hiding?" he asked good-naturedly. "It's break time."

Sucking his thumb quietly, Nate closed his eyes and hoped that he wouldn't be found. Unfortunately, his hiding place wasn't clever enough. The large familiar hand grasped his socked foot and pulled him out slowly. "Why're you down there, boy?" the large man asked as he wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand.

Nate opened his eyes and sighed unhappily. "Because I don't like break time," he replied honestly.

"You're such a smart aleck," the new daddy huffed. "And I'm always so darn considerate of you too."

He gently carried the squirming boy to his bedroom. Once the door was closed, those thick fingers pulled away the soft clothes covering the child and pressed salty kisses across his soft tender skin. "Such a perfect little doll," the middle-aged man praised as he lavished attention on Nate.

The pale child remained quiet as his new daddy loved him in such a strange way. He hated the dirty feeling he was left with after the man loved him and he even complained to his older new brothers about it. They just shook their heads and told him that it would only happen for a year or two. Still, he didn't want this to happen for a year or two. He didn't want this to happen at all.

Each time he was loved, Nate didn't know what to expect. Sometimes the man would just hold him and give him kisses all over, and other times he would have to put his mouth on the man's gross hairy pee-pee. This time, though, his new daddy did the loving that Nate hated the most. He spread apart the short legs and licked down there. A large calloused finger pressed into him making the small boy whimper and squirm.

"Shh, it's ok," the man comforted as he stretched the child's muscles out.

As another finger went in, large tears began to roll down his cheeks and he protested a little louder. His pleas went unanswered, of course, and the much larger man eventually replaced his rough fingers with his quivering erection. Holding the crying and shuddering boy still, he shoved his member into the small boy, eliciting a scream of agony. The ungodly sound couldn't compete with the wonderful feeling though, and the man continued to pleasure himself.

Tiny hands scratched at the large tanned hands and the legs quivered uselessly at the man's hips. A particularly loud shriek managed to stir up the perverse man's loins even further and he thrusted into that body with more fervor.

"Say it, doll, oh make Daddy happy," he panted as he pressed a kiss to the small birdie chest.

Disgust choked the small boy as he sobbed, but he knew that if he didn't comply things would only hurt more. The man wouldn't stop until he got exactly what he wanted and Nate didn't want any more pain than was necessary.

"Daddy!" he cried between pained groans. "Oh Daddy, fuck me!"

"Oh gods, louder!" the new daddy grunted as he began to go faster, and the child had no choice but to comply.

With each thrust, Nate screamed a little louder, but he knew that nothing or no one would stop this. No one ever came.

~_~_~_~_~_

The new mommy and her children came home around 4:00 PM as usual to find Nate watching television. Bill Nye the Science Guy had just started and those unnatural grey eyes were glued to the screen. Dan, the oldest boy, rolled his eyes and went upstairs while Kent complained to his mother that Nate was always watching TV.

"You would do well to watch that science stuff," his mother teased. "Now go watch it with Nate."

Kent huffed, but stretched out on the couch behind the youngest boy. After a few minutes, he got bored so he began to poke the four year old in the arm.

"Why're you so weird?" he asked as he continued to poke.

"How am I weird?" Nate asked while he continued to watch the screen. It was a question that he had wanted to ask for a while, but the opportunity never presented itself. After all, did he have the right to know why everyone gave him a strange look, why everyone avoided him and whispered behind their hands? Yes, he knew that he was sick, but was it contagious or something?

"Well, ya talk funny," Kent started off as he counted on his fingers. "You're so white, you look evil, you never try ta make friends, and ya stare at people like you wanna eat their brains."

"Speak funny?" Nate asked as he decided to tackle the accusations in order. "What does that mean?"

"You talk with all them big fancy words and you're only four! Other kids speak like kids and you speak like on of them adults."

Nate tore his eyes away from the commercial to stare at the older boy. Those words sounded almost exactly like his mother's. Was it true that his vocabulary really was that far advanced from other children his age? He had to dumb down his language to appease his mother, but he had never had an explanation for that before.

"Ok, but what does it matter what I look like? I'm just sick."

"Yeah, sick in the head!" Kent shot back before laughing his loud annoying way.

Before Nate could get any more information out of him, the new mommy called him for his medication. With a sigh, he forced himself up and limped to the kitchen. The white socks slid over the wooden floor easily, making a nice shuffling sound, but it ended as soon as he stood beside the large lady.

"What're you limping for?" she asked cheerily as she bent over to hand him his pills and a sippy cup with water. "Did you fall down again?"

"No," Nate grumbled as he took the pills into his own hands. "New daddy just loved me too hard this afternoon."

The crack of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the kitchen before the sound of the plastic sippy cup hitting the floor even registered. The adopted child stood frozen and stared at the pills rolling around the paneled floor. A large red hand print burned against his cheek as the new mommy stood before him pale as his socks and breathing heavily.

"Don't you dare say such filthy things," she hissed as she grabbed the front of his cotton shirt. "Don't you ever say that again, you hear me?!"

Filthy? What was she talking about? It was true that this was the first time he had mentioned anything about his new daddy's strange loving habits to his new mommy, but her reaction confused him. Why was she angry?

"B-but he just love me in the bed like always," the small boy tried to reason, not knowing what was wrong.

"You sick little pervert!" she screeched as she dragged him to the kitchen table where she bent him over and began swatting his tender rear. "Don't say such filthy things! That's stuff of the devil!"

Crying in shock as much as in pain, Nate thrashed around trying to get her to stop. None of the new siblings came to help him, even as he screamed until his throat was raw. The new mommy seemed to be filled with supernatural power as she continued to slap his rear end mercilessly. After what seemed like an eternity, those hateful calloused hands yanked the new mommy away.

"What in the hell is going on, darlin'?" new daddy asked in shock.

"He's speaking of the devil's things!" she screamed as Nate just sobbed on the table, his legs hanging limply. "Saying such filthy lies! He's lustful for you, he wants evil things!"

"Ok, calm down, darlin'," the man soothed as he held her close. "I'm sure it's a misunderstanding."

"No it's not! Gerald, he's said evil things to me!"

"Here, I'll take care of it," the man comforted as he looked towards the shaking child. "He'll never say anything like that ever again, ok? I'll teach him a lesson, just don't beat him like that. He's delicate, remember? Now, where are his pills?"

The devil, again those words were carved into the small boy's mind. He was evil, he was wicked. A monster. A fiend. For no reason that he could think of, he was dear old Lucifer himself. It was his new parents' job to beat the beast out of him, he realized, but he couldn't help but wonder if they weren't the ones who put that demon inside of him.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Ok, I officially HATE the word "pee-pee". It sounds so weird to me! –shudders- It's just too gross, but it had to be used. I couldn't think of a better word for a four-year-old to use since he hasn't gotten his hands on an anatomy book yet. Ok, so don't kill me for torturing dearest Nearest! -hides- But please feel free to review and let me know what you're feeling about the whole thing. I really do enjoy reading your comments and I always take the readers' suggestions and comments to heart. Also feel free to let me know about any grammatical or spelling errors, or if you have any constructive criticisms about my writing style. :)  
**


	8. Almost Always

**Hurray! Another chapter! So, just as a treat for you guys, this is a long ass chapter. :) There is humor, angst, verbal battles, and physical damage, all rolled up into one wonderfully complex chapter! There is a lot of action in this chapter as well as a lot of explaining. I hope that it won't get confusing! As with Breaking Point, this chapter is dedicated to Kyoko Keehl for all those wonderful reviews! 3**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note**

**Warning: A is in here, so be warned. There is suicide ahead.**

**

* * *

**Roger was dumbfounded.

Wiping his glasses for the third time, _just_ to be sure, the old gentleman then placed them over his eyes and stared at the progress reports. Within one year, Mello had not only caught up to his counterparts but his grades had also surpassed them all. The only competition he had was the extremely unmotivated Matt. The lazy boy's grades had been a disappointment and yet still a head and shoulder above the other children. The only class he had failed was the etiquette course, but that was to be expected.

Regardless, those two children had disrupted the balance at Wammy's House. Never before had anyone truly shown the potential to become the next L. He was fine with that, though. L was a unique being, a child that was almost above the existence of humans. When there was no one to even stand a chance of being molded into another L, the pressure hadn't been quite so intense. It was all just a test, one in which there wasn't really faith in success. Now, however, there was a chance in that success.

Quillsh might actually have a chance to mold a human being into a clone of L. It was almost sickening to think of such a crude way to describe his friend's desire, but it was the truth. Roger sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. This was the final stroke that sealed the fate of the Letters as failures. They would never receive the L Code and they could never become successors. All that was left for them was to develop their talents so that they could be sent out into society to better it in their own way. That was the secondary goal of Wammy's House, of course.

Truthfully, he was a little worried on what their reactions would be, especially that of Beyond. He was the backup for L at the moment, but if Mello continued the way he was going, it wouldn't be long at all before he supplanted the older boy. Would this anger B? Would he try to hurt Mello? It was a difficult question, considering that no one could really understand the older boy. He was reserved and didn't let his thoughts show at all. He had shown a kind of liking to Mello, but would that be thrown aside once his position was threatened? Add to the mix the delicate situation of his hormones raging and who knew what would happen?!

Still, no matter what happened, it was his duty to protect the children and Roger took that seriously. He may not like children in general, but he was not about to ignore their needs and the basic human duty to protect the young and innocent. "I've got my work cut out for me," the old man sighed as he continued to stare at the progress reports. "At least I don't have to deal with L."

~_~_~_~_~_

There were things that normal people didn't understand about Beyond. Hell, there were things that even un-normal people didn't understand about Beyond. He was different, a rarity, and the current backup for the cold and beautiful L. No, he could not think of himself as the heir, the successor. It was all much more complicated than that. He wasn't good enough to be the successor; he was flawed, broken, and ruined. That's the fate of all who were named with letters. The first generation had been abandoned.

However, Beyond was not a stranger to abandonment. Unlike the other Letters, he didn't cry over it, didn't beg for attention. No, he just watched. He watched the pretty blond boy running around behind the kid addicted to crack. Sometimes, he would sit in a corner and watch the Letters struggling to find their path. But sometimes, he would sit in the chair and watch Wammy's old friend working. His lips curled in amusement as he saw those old fingers tremble slightly as the worked, or the sweat rolling down his neck, or even the way his breathing was always too fast. It was all interesting, so very interesting. Beyond just had that effect on most people.

Mello didn't act like that. Those large clueless eyes would look up at him in…was it joy? A smile would spread and then he would fling himself into the older boy's arms, wanting to be held and loved. He too starved for attention, but it wasn't like the Letters. He hadn't been broken yet. To be honest, Beyond loved giving the boy attention. Who wouldn't? There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and he had such soft skin. Warm, soft skin. He almost felt special as he stroked the bare skin of those chubby arms or that smooth round belly when he was allowed to lift up that shirt. No one else touched the boy this way so in a way, he _was _special. Unfortunately, that wouldn't be the case forever. Mello would fall in _love_ with someone and would be touched far more intimately than this.

"Mmngh, no fair," Mello sighed as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. A squeaky yawn followed making B chuckle.

His thin fingers were ghosting over the said child's belly, making the skin prickle and the boy sigh happily. Mello loved the tickling sensation, especially on his belly.

"I'm not doing anything," B replied as he continued to orchestrate his fingers. The flesh underneath his ministrations trembled and Mello's eyelids began to droop down. Grinning, the older boy leaned down and breathed lightly across the skin. The reaction was priceless. Little toes curled and eyes squeezed shut while the boy giggled helplessly.

"Beyond."

Hmm, that wasn't Mello's voice. Both boys looked up from the bed to the doorway where another boy stood. His honey colored eyes were cast down to the floor and he shifted his weight around nervously.

"Almost, come in," B replied nearly cheerfully. "Mello, why don't you go take a nap?"

"But I'm not sleepy!" the pretty child huffed as he stood up and pulled the shirt back down over his belly.

"You should never lie to me," he breathed into the child's ear, making the boy squeal and rub his ear.

"Fine! (yawn) But, you hafta go to bed too."

"Once I finish with Almost."

"It's just A, Beyond," the older boy hissed, shifting even more uncomfortably. "Just A."

Mello ignored the other boy and glomped Beyond's leg one more time for good measure. "G'night."

B just smiled. He never said "good night" or "sweet dreams" because that would be foolish presumption on his part. If it ended up being a bad night, or if the person had nightmares, wouldn't they be able to blame him for jinxing them? Yes, he stayed far away from presumptuous things.

Once Mello was gone, A closed the door and made his way to the bed where B was sitting. He sat on the bed and just stared at his hands for a while. Already used to his generation's idiosyncrasies, Beyond just fell back on the plain uncomfortable bed and waited for his (was it friend?) classmate to speak.

"W-what were you doing to that boy?" A finally asked as he looked over to the younger of the two.

"I was rubbing his belly."

"Why?"

Raising an eyebrow, he looked over at the first of them, the first Letter. "Because he likes it, _Almost_. What, are you jealous?"

"I still d-don't remember telling you my name," A stuttered as he looked around nervously, as if he expected someone to come out of the walls and chastise him for having his name known to anyone.

"You did," B replied flatly, looking back up at the ceiling. "Now, answer my question. Were you jealous? Do you want me to rub your belly?"

A sighed heavily as he continued to look at his pale hands. He was definitely more skittish today, and B knew exactly why. The numbers above his head were flickering, dancing between two dates. Still, he said nothing and waited for the older boy to speak.

"I suppose I was…perhaps a little…jealous. I don't want you to rub my belly, B, just…"

"You can call me Beyond, you know."

"I don't want to," he whispered. "I can't just blatantly reveal names like you do, it's just wrong. Our names are ours to keep. No one else is to know it!"

"What would you rather me call out?" B questioned as he fixed his eyes on the other's back. "You want me to call out for A? For the thing that has been tossed into a corner by L? Or for Almost, the boy?"

Turning around, A looked down into B's eyes, those strange and unnerving eyes that haunted him. Taking the initiative, he leaned over the lanky younger boy and pressed his lips against those sugar saturated lips. Strawberry jam, the only taste there ever was. B felt his lips upturn into a smirk. It was rare for A to ever attempt anything overtly. His specialty always did lie in subversive control. The older boy had nearly mastered suggestion in regards to hypnotism and other controlling measures. Only B had ever seen through his cowardly tactics, had ever forced him to do things openly.

Still, he hated being bottom. Grabbing A's working jaw, Beyond flipped over on him. Both mouths were open and exploring. There was never a battle for dominance, not since the first night. A had assumed that his being older automatically meant that he was the dominant partner. But everyone knows what "assume" makes. Besides, A was too weak to dominate, too scared. Beyond, on the other hand, tasted submission, and he had hated it. So he had fought back with such overwhelming vehemence that A had crumbled like a stack of cards.

Now their battle was of a different sort. A fought to drag true affection from B, while B just fought against being molded into anything but himself. He had had enough of manipulation from the adults and all the attempts to turn him into a carbon copy of L. He refused to let that manipulation come to his bed. Yet, there A was, writhing under his cold sharp fingers.

"Oh, B," A moaned as he clung desperately to the younger boy. "L-let's go all the way, _please_!"

B pulled back to look at the other boy. The numbers above his head had finally stopped flickering. The date was set. "Ok, Almost, we'll go all the way this time."

Although he was willing to go further than the petting they usually engaged in, Beyond didn't have a clue as to what "going all the way" consisted of. He wasn't really curious about sexual things so he had never bothered doing any research. Besides, there were precious few ways to get information like that and he didn't want to be bothered with things like that. So, in light of the fact that he didn't know what to do, Beyond continued his ministrations of a more familiar sort.

His cold hand wrapped around A's hot member and began the firm even strokes. Beautiful sounds came from that panting mouth, but A pushed away his hand. "N-no, you'll make me climax too soon!"

"What the heck do you want me to do?" B huffed, at a lost.

A bright blush rose on A's cheeks. Was he really going to have to spell it out to the younger man? How humiliating! The thought alone was almost enough to make his sex organ go limp. It was like having Roger tell him what exactly was between a woman's legs. "W-well, um, you know."

"If I knew, I wouldn't ask," B hissed. He didn't like it when he didn't know things, but he hated it even more when A started acting all shy like this. If he just blurted the damn explanation out, there wouldn't be an awkward pause and they could just continue.

"Um, just, well…" It really was more difficult than one would imagine. "You should prepare me first, so that I won't get hurt."

Beyond just stared at him in a mixture of annoyance and confusion. Prepare him? Like, as in preparing food? There were no spices to rub on him or no mallet to tenderize him. On top of that, the idea of preparing him like food was ludicrous. Still, how else was he supposed to "prepare" A? Besides, didn't he say something about it hurting? Where was the pleasure in pain?

"Get out," Beyond commanded as he pulled away. "I don't have the patience to deal with your mind games, Almost. If you won't just tell me what to do, then you can go jerk yourself off alone."

Nearly in tears, A shook his head. He didn't want to leave, but talking about such things was embarrassing! Perhaps if he just said it really quickly, it would all be over and they could get on to better things.

"You need to p-put your fingers in…gods, inside of me. Like, in my a-anus." Humiliation could not describe the feelings of the poor boy. "After you stretch out the muscles, you put your p-penis inside, and that's…that's sex."

B just stared at him blankly for a moment, leaving the older boy squirming even more. "Why didn't you just say so?" he finally snorted, before proceeding to push two fingers inside.

The roughness caused A to scream out in pain and he pulled away, kicking at B. The younger boy growled in irritation and grabbed his leg, pulling him closer. He tried to push his fingers in again, but A thrashed around making it impossible.

"S-stop!" he gasped. "It hurts!"

"This was supposed to stop it from hurting!" B shouted, ready to just give up this disastrous attempt at sex. It was far more work than he was willing to do.

"It will if you do it right! Do it slowly!"

"Fine, but if this doesn't work, I'm not doing it again."

Huffing, Beyond pulled one of A's legs up, allowing better access. Coating his finger in saliva, he pressed it against the muscle, easing inside. It was still uncomfortable for A, but he was scared that B would just stop, so he sucked it up. Frowning at the tightness, B began to work the muscles, trying to loosen them up. There was no way that his dick was going to fit in that tight space if they didn't loosen up some more.

It took a good thirty minutes of working A's muscles before he even thought that there would be a chance of getting his penis inside there. Just as he was about to pull his fingers out, they stroked something that made A jerk and scream. His cock twitched as well, blood flooding into it. The reaction almost scared the younger boy, but he was curious. Rubbing the same spot, he watched in fascination as A writhed and moaned. He seemed to be enjoying it, so B rubbed it more, until A shouted something that surprised them both.

"Oh hell, just fuck me already!"

Taken aback, Beyond was more than willing to oblige. For some strange reason, his own member seemed to respond to watching his friend act that way. Regardless, he was hard and willing to try out this new thing. Pulling A closer to him, he struggled to get into a comfortable position in order to press in. Almost spread his legs and arched up to make it easier and soon enough the pale raven-haired boy was pushing in.

It was ridiculously tight, painful for both boys. At least, at first it was. After a few clumsy thrusts that resulted in A yelling at him again, Beyond finally managed to get a good rhythm going. Slow and deep. His thin but strong arms held up A's legs and he pushed in the tight passage agonizingly slowly. Surprisingly, he found himself panting and the blood engorging his member even more. Somehow this ridiculous act was turning him on.

Obviously, it wasn't only affecting him. After only a little while, A was begging for it. He wanted it harder and faster, and who was B to deny him? Skin slapped skin and the shallow breaths filled the room along with the grunts and moans both boys couldn't hold back. Orgasm hit Beyond like a freight train: completely by surprise and utterly overwhelming. He couldn't even remember to breathe as the powerful shock ran through his body. It took him a while to even realize where he was and who he was smothering underneath him.

Holding the sweaty boy, B dragged his tongue over the thin neck, taking in the thick new scent. It was musky, such a powerful smell; raw, positively animal. Something sticky was rubbing between their bodies and it took a several minutes to even realize that it was semen. A had obviously had his climax as well. There was nothing but their steady breathing and the pounding of hearts against ribcages.

"L-let's take a bath," A mumbled a few minutes later.

After a quick glance at the numbers above the older boy's head, B nodded. "We can do that."

Only the sounds of water filled the bathroom as they washed off the evidence of their relationship. Everything just washed down the drain along with the soap suds and water. A looked through his soaked bangs at the bony back of his friend, his almost lover. Almost; cursed with a name like that, why did he ever expect that he could attain anything more?

"B…Beyond," he whispered as he wrapped both arms around the thin sharp waist. "We're friends, right?"

B snorted in annoyance. What an unoriginal opening to his plea. "Just ask me straight out, Almost. I refuse to participate otherwise."

A whimpered against the wet back, wishing that Beyond wouldn't force him to ask for help out loud. It was humiliating and altogether more frightening. Why couldn't he submit like all the others did? Regardless, A knew quite well how far B's stubbornness ran. "I…well, I'm going to be sent away, Beyond. The day after my 15th birthday, they're going to send me away to work with terrorist interrogators, to break people."

"And?" B asked coldly as he stood under the spray of hot water. The heat was turning his pallid skin a pastel pink color.

"I w-won't do it. As a m-matter of fact, I won't do anything for Wammy's House." Even as he spoke the words, his resolve strengthened. "They ruined us, you know. I refuse to live like the failure they made me. Will you help me?"

It was empowering to let the words that had been floating around in his mind for months finally come out. Still, even with the intoxicating feeling running through his body, A knew that he would never be able to do it without B. He would never speak aloud, never follow through. Why? He didn't know.

"Help you do what?" B asked with a smile on his lips although his eyes showed a different emotion.

Dragging his tongue up B's backbone, caressing each jutting bone, A finally stood to his full height and leaned in to whisper his answer. "Kill myself."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence and running water. Then, there was nothing but silence.

With his hand still on the shower knob, B sighed and turned to look at his friend. His empty smile widened. "Pardon me for being technical, but how do you suggest I 'help' you? The definition of 'killing yourself' is that you kill yourself. If I help you, then I would be killing you, and it would be called murder. And we both know exactly what L does with murderers."

The question stumped the older boy for a minute. Everything B said was true. Still, he was 100% sure that he wouldn't be able to carry it out without B's help, his unshakable foundation. Pressing a kiss to those wet lips, he pulled away with a soft click.

"Just hold me, Beyond. No matter what I say, make sure I go through with it. Can you do that?"

Pause. Then, "Of course."

~_~_~_~_~_

It wasn't as hard as A thought it would be, not with B holding him. Sitting in the steaming bath like the lovers they might have been, A sat on B's lap and kissed him with abandon. Two quick, deep cuts; that was all he had to do. Now he waited like the Roman he was. Except that he was pretty sure that his predecessors didn't have such a beautiful person holding them. Their tongues were slowly dancing, sensually rubbing against each other. Pulling away, he sucked on B's lower lip a little longer before leaning back to look at Beyond. This was the last person, the last _thing_, he would see before death, so he really wanted to _see_ him.

Beyond accepted this and just leaned against the back of the tub. A's eyes studied his features and after a few minutes he brought his hand up to feel the porcelain skin. Warm blood smeared across B's face as A brushed aside his stubborn bangs, tucking them as best as he could behind the perfectly placed ears. Dark eyes peeked out from the pale face and lips that were usually so ghostly were moist and flushed with blood. Red, just like his own blood.

Swallowing hard, A tried to ignore the pain and panic threatening to eat him up. His heart rate had sped up, his breathing became shallow and rapid. The bath felt too hot, its temperature forcing his arteries wider, spilling out his life. Suddenly, he was very frightened. He would die an unknown orphan with no past.

"I-I'm Italian, Beyond," he gasped, desperate not to be forgotten. "I was born—born in Rome. My mother was in c-college and slept with a foreign exchange s-student from…" His thoughts were harder to keep in order. B remained silent and just watched him crumble. "From America! He was gone, away before she knew…me and raised me all alone."

"Well, that's nice," B murmured as he rubbed A's back.

"It was…was a car accident, and she died." The water was turning red and as A gestured with his hands, blood spattered over B and the tile on the wall. "I r-really like art, but I'm no good at it, and they won't let you do anything you're not good at only what _they_ think is best for society and never best for you!"

His panicked voice climbed up to near deafening volumes and his fingernails dug into B's shoulders as he shook the younger boy, emphasizing his point. Feeling sick and faint, A rested his head against B's slick chest and began to sob. He really was going to die, a minuscule and worthless speck in the grand scheme of human existence.

"I d-don't want to die!" he sobbed, all his insecurities and weaknesses bubbling up. "Stop this! I don't want to die!"

The cursed eyes flickered up a final time, witnessing the glaring numbers of fate. A would die.

Thin, powerful fingers gripped A's wrists, breaking open the tender flesh that tried to heal over. The scream, it was far more painful than the feeble struggling. A thrashed against the considerably stronger Letter for several seconds, cursing and praying, all at the same time. But the blood only spilled faster, forced out of the body through the struggle. Each drop fell to the water, swirling for a brief moment before fading into the pink water. The correct term would be diffusion.

"It's ok, Almost," Beyond whispered, holding the dying boy close. "I'm just helping you fulfill your destiny. You told me to, and I gave my word. It doesn't mean that I hate you; it means that I'm fond of you. Fond enough to help you die."

Drawing on the last of his energy, A looked up into crimson eyes. Bloody fingers stroked the pale lips, painting them. The last few tears slipped down his soft cheeks.

"Did you always have red eyes, Beyond?" A asked with surprising clarity.

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Yes, Always."

And he breathed his last, Alpha, the first, in the arms of the Backup. Almost Always committed suicide.

~_~_~_~_~_

The water was cold now, but he didn't move, wouldn't move. It would be so disrespectful. After all, he was finally resting, finally at peace. His eyes had been closed long ago, and his frail frame held close to the still living body. There were no tears for A; no, B had not cried in a long while. Still, it hurt.

"Interesting," B mumbled to himself as he stared blankly at the wall. "Helping someone die, time's up…"

As he continued his musings an unfortunate nanny was making her way to his room. B had missed lunch and dinner and hadn't even spirited away a jar of strawberry jam. Someone had to check up on him to make sure he was ok, and Nanny Francisca drew the short straw.

"Dear me," she sighed as she paused in front of his door. Although she was new, Francisca had heard about the Letters and was told to specifically avoid the Letter, B, when at all possible. "Maybe he's just tired," she whispered, trying to gather up her courage. She had only seen this "B" once, and that was enough to frighten her.

Being polite, the nanny knocked and called out to him. "This is Francisca, dear! Are you feeling ill?" When there was no response, she crossed her fingers and walked in. At first, there seemed to be nothing alarming. Rustled bed sheets and an empty room. She thought of looking under the bed, but the lights from under the bathroom door made her check that out first. Perhaps he was throwing up a lot and decided to stay in the bathroom? Eating nothing but jars of jam was sure to do that to you.

"B? I'm coming in."

No reply.

Nothing in her young life could have prepared Francisca for the scene that greeted her upon opening that door. Blood, B, and a dead boy. The tightly upheld mask of peace and tranquility at the Wammy's House shattered with a long drawn out scream of terror.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Watari?"

The elderly man looked up from his newspaper to see his young charge sitting peculiarly in an oversized chair. Its plush cushions seemed to swallow the pathetically thin boy. Quillsh had tried relentlessly to feed that boy anything but sweets, but L would have none of that. After his last attempt to shove vegetables down the boy's throat, he was forced to swear off such efforts. If he hadn't, Lawliet would still have been hiding in the impossibly narrow space behind and old, heavy bookshelf in Berlin, Germany. Alas, he was forced to see that ridiculously thin frame everyday.

"Watari?" L called again, this time with annoyance laced in his voice. He would not stand for being ignored.

"Yes, L?"

"Why is there war?"

"Hmmm, I think that you are smart enough to figure that out for yourself," the old man chuckled. He rarely answered any questions from the boy, always pushing him to figure things out on his own. This caused the teenager to lean back and huff unhappily.

"It wastes money, sacrifices countless innocent lives, and damages the minds and bodies of even more. War destroys priceless art, buildings, structures, and stifles the education of potentially bright minds. It causes starvation, bigotry-"

"Isn't war started by bigotry?" Quillsh interrupted. He loved to see that young mind develop, to reason things out in a way that many couldn't even comprehend.

"To a certain extent. However, when a group is forced into war, they are forced to openly stand for or against bigotry. On top of that, war brainwashes people into even more bigotry. Children in Germany were taught to hate Jews during the war, and young men grew to hate other races since they were forced to fight them. Even people in America, the supposed 'land of the free' became racist against Asians merely because a few Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. But they didn't just hate the bombers; no, they hated _all_ Asians."

"They had to protect their country from further attacks."

"By doing the exact same thing that they were killing Germans for? One can give concentration camps different pretty names, but it is still a concentration camp that deprives the people within the freedom that they seek. That racism even continued after the war."

"The Americans weren't killing the Japanese in gas chambers."

Scrunching his forehead and biting on his thumb, L tried to understand the difference between the cases. Both parties had done nearly the same thing with different excuses, and both seemed wrong to him. How could it not be wrong?

"They might not have been openly doing what the Germans were doing, but there were plenty of cases were the guards of the camps would beat up the Japanese for doing absolutely nothing. One could even reason that what they did was worse, because the Japanese were subject to the humiliation and abuse then let out into the world alive to suffer even more. The Jews were killed and didn't have to endure as long as the Japanese had to."

"Isn't that what all peoples have done? The Japanese tortured Americans and British soldiers cruelly, allowing them to live as long as they could under the extreme conditions. Couldn't one reason that the Americans were just in their treatment of possible enemies considering that the said enemies were doing far worse?"

"Wrong is wrong, regardless of the reasoning of foolish men. Besides, the people in the American camps were innocent."

"They couldn't tell that until after the fact. It was _impossible_ to discover just who was an enemy or who was an ally."

"You can't blame an entire race for the stupidity of the leaders. If they couldn't figure out who the enemies were, then they deserved to be attacked."

Quillsh could no longer suppress his laughter, and the cheerful sound brought an offended scowl to the teenager's face. He hated being ridiculed, but even worse, he _hated_ losing a debate. Somehow, the old man always seemed to get the better of him or at least mock his victories. L could never seem to gain the advantage in their arguments, and if he did, Quillsh always brushed it aside as if it were nothing but an annoying gnat buzzing around. Old bastard.

"If there were no wars, no sickness, no crime, would there be beauty, Lawliet?"

Sinking further into the chair at the mention of his last name, he took a moment to let that question toss around in his mind. Things were beautiful and happy when you compared them to things that were worse. If there were only beautiful things, could you only measure what was more beautiful? Or would you call the less beautiful things ugly? Was it all relative? When people experienced dreadful things in their lives, it was true that they lived life in either utter despair or in a thankfulness that made everything seem so much brighter and lovelier. A soft breeze could bring a homesick soldier inexplicable joy. Would it if he had never been to war?

Before L had the chance to give his opinion, the phone beside the elder man rang loudly. The teenager scowled unhappily, utterly hating how that damned phone always seemed to ring at the worst moments. It was depriving him of an opportunity to prove to Quillsh just how smart he was. Sulking, he snatched a large swirled lollipop from his plate of treats and held it upside down to lick at it.

"Yes? Oh, Roger? Wait, what's going on?" Both eyebrows drew together in a sign of concern and that insufferable mustache twitched. "Are you certain? Just…no, it's completely understandable. Please, don't worry, my friend. Yes, this is definitely something we need to attend to, _I_ need to attend to. We will be over there in a few hours. Please try to keep things under control until then."

With a soft click, the phone was set on the cradle. Still pouting, L refused to look at the older man or to even ask what was going on. Quillsh just stood up and began to pack everything. Without saying a word to his young charge, he prepared for their trip, leaving only the sweets untouched. In only an hour, they were both settled comfortably in a private jet. Still, the boy's stubbornness could not be overcome. Regardless, Quillsh had to let him know what had happened.

"L, there's been a…situation at Wammy's House."

"Hmph," he replied around that ridiculously large lollipop. It almost looked like he was trying to eat it whole.

"A's dead. B was found covered in his blood and it appears as if he murdered A."

The mention of his Backup finally caught the teenager's attention. Dark eyes looked up at the older man and seemed to measure his words as if they were floating in the air before him.

"I don't need to see the crime scene to tell you that B did not murder A," he finally replied. Another slow lick to his candy.

"There are defensive wounds."

L actually snorted in amusement. "I repeat, B did not murder A."

Sitting back, he continued to wear down the hardened sugar treat with his flexible tongue. He was never wrong.

~_~_~_~_~_

Insanity, that's the only word that Matt could think of. All of Wammy's House was in an uproar. That nanny screamed like a banshee, successfully waking up all the younger children, and getting all the older children to run to her. The kids called Letters ran away, screaming "murder" and "escape" and scaring everyone they passed by. A window shattered where H had thrown a chair at it before jumping out. K began scratching at her face, tearing the flesh with her own blunt nails.

It was as if something had tipped the carefully set balance and now everyone had lost it. Was this some horror movie? W began attacking some of the younger children, screaming of being replaced. Even with the chaos erupting around him, with adults screaming and trying to protect everyone at the same time, Matt had only one thought. Mello didn't come to bed like he was supposed to. He had wanted to read some stupid book a little longer in the library, so that's where the brunette was racing to. Some kid was lying at the foot of the stairs, screaming hysterically and holding a visibly broken leg. Matt just ran past her and headed for the large room.

Unfortunately, there was one of the Letters standing in front of the only door. He was sobbing and pacing around, almost like a zombie in the arcade games. There was blood on his hands and Matt couldn't tell if it was his own or if it was another unfortunate kid's blood. Still, Mello was past that door and he had to see if his friend was ok.

"Shit," he hissed as he gathered his courage. "Motherfucking bitch better move." Walking straight up to the taller child, he puffed out his chest and looked right up into that panicked face. "Get out of the way, I need to get my friend."

"Friend?" he asked in a high pitch. "A friend? There are no friends here! It's kill or be killed! Succeed or be thrown to the side like trash! Like damn trash!"

The boy's ranting was absolutely terrifying, but Matt had to save Mello. "M-move, buddy, or I'll…I'll hit you!"

"You're _nothing_," the Letter spat, his eyes glaring hatefully. "Cheating, worthless piece of flesh!"

Before Matt had a chance to either retaliate or run away like a coward, the door slammed open and knocked the older kid forward on his face. Matt jumped out of the way in surprise and gawked as he watched Mello run forward with a heavy book. A look of terror and desperation was etched on his pale face. One swing was all it took to knock the boy unconscious.

Blue eyes hidden behind goggles were as large as saucers and his mouth was hanging open as he stared at the tiny blond huffed from the exertion and nervously tucked some hair behind his ear. Those sea green eyes looked at the brunette as if making sure that he was ok. The thud of the book being dropped made the younger boy jump.

"Did he hurt you?" the blond asked as he swallowed down his fear.

"N-no. Of course not! Now, come on, let's hide somewhere safe!" Grabbing the chubby hand, Matt headed towards the pantry where they could hide and still have a food supply if they needed to camp out for a few weeks. Regrettably, Mello seemed to have other ideas, and dug in his heels, jerking the other boy to a halt.

"Wait a minute, Matt!"

"What?! We need to hide!"

Anger clouded the older boy's face and he jerked his hand away from his friend. "How old are you?" he asked seriously as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You are not seriously asking me this now!" Matt hissed as he looked around, expecting another crazy person to pop out of the walls.

"Answer the question!" the blond screamed as he stomped his foot. He would not be denied an answer.

"Fine, shit! I'm seven!"

"I'm seven too. Now when is your birthday?"

"I told you before, it's February 1." What was he trying to get at?

"My birthday is December 13, and that means that I was born before you were."

"So?"

"So that means I'm older than you!" Mello shouted in annoyance. "You keep treating me like your little sister or something! I'm the older one, and you should be doing what I say!"

The words struck at Matt like a physical blow. He had been trying so hard to keep the memories of his sister buried away, so deep that they wouldn't be able to hurt him. It was true, though. Mello looked so…defenseless, and he couldn't help but try to be the big brother he had always been.

"I…sorry," he mumbled, teary eyes staring at the floor.

Seeing that he had done something to upset his friend, all the anger left Mello and he took Matt's hand in his own again. Those round eyes begged for forgiveness and Matt couldn't be angry. He was just sad. "I'm sorry too," Mello whispered, drawing closer to the thinner boy. "I just want to…well, to protect you like I should."

The idea of being protected instead of protecting was something novel to the American. No one had ever wanted to do that for him before, but still, there was no deceit in those eyes, and Mello had never given him a reason to doubt.

"I don't have to be in charge?" he questioned, still not sure if he could believe such a thing.

"I can be in charge," Mello whispered, his breath now ghosting over Matt's bare ear.

Nodding, Matt allowed himself to be dragged away in a different direction. Being the one to be dragged, something strange happened. The brunette felt as if something had been lifted off of his chest, like he could breathe better. Pain that had always been pulsing in his head seemed to fade away, and he felt…happy. There was no responsibility if he was the one being led. It would never be his fault again. It was a new kind of freedom.

Mello led Matt into his secret spot under the stairs, and both of them just huddled together in the darkness. Footsteps hurried around and screams could still be heard. The panicked voice of Roger echoed down a hall before several nurses shouted over it. Were people still hurting each other? The European boy bit his lip nervously, hoping that Beyond was ok. Fingers intertwined in the darkness, and they eventually fell asleep, lulled by the constant footsteps rushing around.

* * *

**Author's Notes: -deep breath- Whoo! That was intense, wasn't it? Now, I did take liberties with A because no one really knows anything about him. -shrug- Also, his name is just something that I made up. I kind of felt the need to give some honor to him, because he was the first of what I call the Letters. They are the first generation of Wammy's kids and they suffered the worst experimentation that has gone on up to that point. In a sense, the other Letters looked up to A as the leader, as the one to emulate. Once he died, it was almost like permission to rebel. Now, in my story, the first generation don't really have code names. They are just given a letter depending on when they showed up. **

**On top of that, to me there is no Wammy kid named with an "L". The reasoning for this is pretty simple. L was very jealous about his name, his title. In the novel, it was mentioned that anyone who used his title was gotten rid of in a not particularly kind way. He wouldn't let anyone use his name, and I think that would go for the kids to. So, Linda is not "L" to me. Also, the other generation of kids are given names that don't necessarily go along with the letters of their first names. Like Linda would not be L. In that same way, Matt would not be M or M squared.**

**Now, other people have different opinions, and I understand that. This is just how I will be doing it in my story. That doesn't mean that I'm not open to hearing those other opinions. I'd love to hear what you all would have to say about that! Just please refrain from telling me that I'm ****wrong****. As usual, also feel free to point out spelling and/or grammatical errors. I really do enjoy reviews, even if they are just to point out my completely human failings. XD**

**As a final side note, did anyone get all the references to what B will do in the future? Also, I thought that the ridiculous rumor of his being a bloodthirsty cannibalistic killer would make sense if it started at Wammy's House. (at least to me it would) And I also make a point of writing that he has dark eyes, because people can't see Shinigami eyes. Because of this, they would ****not**** see his red eyes. At least until the moment of death. XD That's another thing I came up originally. At the moment of death, people see everything clearly and as it is. In this case, they would see his true eyes.**

**Thanks for reading this story! I hope that you will review, and even if you don't please continue to enjoy this story!**


	9. Pieces

None of the children could honestly say that they liked the head guardian of Wammy's House. Roger didn't dote on any of the children, he never really cracked a smile at any of their childish antics, and he never congratulated anyone on their phenomenal talent or intelligence. Now, that's no to say that most of them disliked the old man; it was more that the majority of the gifted orphans were pleasantly indifferent to him. The only ones that actually disliked the man were the few children who had disciplinary problems and were subject to a firm swatting by him.

However, each and every person in Wammy's House had newfound respect for the man after the night of Hell that they all endured. In the early hours of the morning, things were a stark contrast to just a few hours ago. The caretakers hurried about quietly, tending to injured children and trying their best to soothe the upset Letters. Roger didn't get a wink of sleep, but he was still working tirelessly. He organized the panicked nannies and provided them with the backbone to keep going. On top of that, he was keeping the emotional Letters restrained and he was busy trying to account for the 38 children.

Scrunching his wrinkled forehead, Roger realized that the only two children not accounted for were Mello and Matt, the newest two. Always a man of common sense, he decided that going around the building calling out for them wasn't the best course of action. If they couldn't be found immediately, all the children would be in an uproar again fearing the worst. They might even try to blame it all on B and attack him. No, this had to be dealt with carefully. Casually informing the nannies to send the boys to the kitchen if they happened to see the boys, he began his search of the large building.

Something he had learned early on in his time as a caretaker of Wammy's House was that the building was full of all manner of nooks and crannies that the little children could hide in. It was usually in the smallest and most out of reach areas that he would find the dastardly children. Still, Wammy in his usual manner, created this house full of hiding places and Roger still didn't know half of them. Regardless, he had a duty. Find those children.

Naturally, those two boys couldn't be found in any of the secret rooms that he knew of. Making sure to check in the kitchen often to see if they were found, the old man's poor frazzled nerves were doing a number on him. What if they had been trampled and were dying in pain somewhere, unconscious? What if they were thrown out a window and lying there with broken necks? Before he had the chance to drive himself crazy, the front door of the mansion opened up with a comforting creak.

Out of the darkness stepped forth a calm and collected Wammy as well as his little pet project. The older man looked around and seemed to sigh in relief as he realized that his friend had been able to bring some kind of order to the panicked house. "Roger, excellent job."

"Not quite," the balding man sighed. "I can't find the two new boys. I've been searching all the damnable hiding places that I know about, but no luck so far."

Smiling slightly, Quillsh could see the stress his friend was under. After all, his chap preferred not to use crude words unless he was under extreme agitation. "Don't worry, L can look for them. Are all the children locked away for now?"

"The Letters are being cared for in the right wing with most of the nannies, and the rest of the children are being kept in the playroom."

"And the injured?"

"In the infirmary. H has suffered several fractured from jumping out the window along with several gashes that needed stitching. K has been sedated and they're trying to fix her face as best as they can for now. There are others of course-"

"Where's B?" L asked as he fidgeted uncomfortably. If he wasn't in a chair swallowing down insane amounts of sugar, that boy was not comfortable. It was annoying.

"I put him in my office for his protection, as well as to keep him from hurting anyone."

Finally, the question Roger didn't really want to answer. "Where is A's body?"

"I carried him to my room," he answered quietly. "He's covered, on the bed." By the Queen, he was never going to sleep on that bed again. Never.

"Since you've already met Mello, it will be ok for you to find them, L. You've memorized the blueprints of this place, right?" The thin teen nodded. "Once they're found, make them go to the playroom and you need to go to Roger's room. I'll be in there examining the body. Roger, make yourself a cup of tea and rest for a bit."

With clear instructions, they all parted ways. Kicking the bothersome shoes off his feet, L padded through the house quietly. Finding lost children was not something that he wanted to do, but he was tired and figured that the sooner this mess was cleared up, the sooner he could sit back down. He might even be able to fall asleep today. Using the process of elimination and some top rate deductive skills, the young detective was able to narrow down the possible hiding places to the secret compartment under the main stairs, the pantry, or the room behind the fake wall in the entryway of the library. Chewing his thumb, he headed for the closest one, the space under the main stairs.

Sliding the door open soundlessly, he wasn't really surprised to see the two children sleeping in there. They were holding hands, fingers intertwined and heads resting against each other. It looked so…uncomfortable. Glancing at his own hand, L wondered what it felt like to actually hold hands with someone. Just thinking about it made him shudder. He hated things touching his palms.

Crouching down in front of the sleeping children, he poked Mello's side with a sharp finger. The boy's face crinkled in annoyance and he tried to ignore the bony appendage, but if nothing, L was persistent. Finally, he was awarded with a sleepy, "Leave me 'lone."

"You need to go to the playroom," he ordered flatly.

"Sleepy," Mello mumbled, burying his face in the mop of unruly brown hair that had been brushing his cheek.

"The faster that you go over there, the sooner you'll be able to go to sleep."

"I am asleep."

A vein was visibly throbbing on the teen's forehead. What was up with people ignoring him? It was grating on his near non-existent nerves.

"Get up. Now."

Mello huffed and blinked sleepily at the one who had disturbed his sleep. Bleary eyes saw the hunched figure and it brought a small smile to his lips. Unclasping his hand from Matt's hand, he reached out his hands as a sign that he wanted to be picked up. At first, L was fully prepared to refuse. Almost immediately, though, he stopped himself. He didn't want to waste time arguing with an irrational child, he just wanted to get this day over with. Huffing in displeasure, he heaved the growing boy up, grunting at the weight. Yes, he was definitely not made for carrying heavy things like children.

Shuffling off awkwardly, he walked to the end of the large hallway, to the room on the right. Not wanting to be seen more than necessary, he set Mello down on the floor and ordered him to go into the room. Exhausted, Mello didn't argue and just walked in with full intentions of dropping down wherever was comfortable. Huffing from the physical exertion, L made his way back to the stairs where another heavy parcel was waiting to be delivered.

The effort it took to carry the other boy nearly threw out the skinny detective's back and he fully intended to blame Wammy if there was any permanent damage done to his body. Once Matt was shoved into the room, L slowly made his way to Roger's room on the third floor. Panting heavily, he finally walked in only to see Mr. Wammy casually inspecting the body of a stiff corpse. He had gloves on and his sleeves were rolled up, but that was about all the formality that the situation provided.

Ugh, he needed to sit down for a while.

~_~_~_~_~_

The dark room was comforting to the raven-haired boy. It muffled all the screams and the chaos. Now he was alone, all alone. Yes, it had been hours since silence had overtaken Wammy's House, but the air was still thick with panic and anguish. It could be tasted. Actually, it was kind of funny.

"Ha…ha ha ha, hehehe…"

The sound of his chuckling was hollow, even to his own ears. It sounded more like crying. Why was he so sad? Death surrounded him constantly, tearing his sanity with its ruthless claws. These things shouldn't affect him!

But wait, no, it wasn't that A died. He wouldn't be sad about that. Nope, he wasn't sad at that. The strange feeling squeezing his heart had to be caused by those damnable nannies tearing the cold boy's body from him. They had no right to do that! A hated them! He didn't want them, he wanted B! And yet, even the surge of hatred and rage crashing through his body was not enough to break his composure. Tearing apart Roger's office would be so unbecoming. Instead, Beyond remained motionless on the floor, naked.

~_~_~_~_~_

"He did not kill, A," L huffed, thoroughly annoyed at having to repeat himself so often. When Mr. Wammy ignored the younger man as he continued to examine the cold body, the latter hunched over indignantly and resorted to childish means of getting attention. He began to poke the old man's side.

Two minutes into the abuse and Mr. Wammy graced his surrogate child with his attention. "Yes?"

"Beyond did not kill Almost."

"Look at this," Quillsh commanded with a gesture to the body. It seemed like he had once again ignored his charge. "There is skin and blood under his nails. It also looks like the wounds have been forcibly torn open and there is bruising on the wrists."

"Yes, but none of that is of-"

"Lawliet!" the elderly man snapped. His wrinkled hand gripped L's shoulder tightly, forcing the seventeen year old closer to the body. "I know that B did not kill him, and I know that you know that! Now explain to me why! Being a genius and being right all the time is bloody useless if you can't convince others that you are right!"

The dark-haired teen stood silent for a moment. Everyone he knew, excluding Roger, thought that Quillsh Wammy was a simple, kind-hearted old man that used his wealth to better the world. All of that was true, of course, but people generally failed to see anything deeper. They would never see the unforgiving task master who forced an ungodly regime on the orphans of Wammy's House. They could not imagine him cold-heartedly rejecting every single Letter as a true successor for L no matter how hard they tried.

When it came to his projects, Quillsh was as cruel and unrelenting as it got. L was not allowed to fail. The orphans were merely marble blocks there to be chipped at and cut through until they shattered or became the image that he desired. However, he was by no means an evil person. He was just passionate. In nearly every other regard of life, he was a flexible and understanding as a human being could be. After all, his laxness about most things in life was the source of L's bratty behavior and his unhealthy diet.

Obsidian eyes scanned the body before he silently examined the crime scene photos taken by the staff and the witness statements by the nannies and staff that went into the scene. Chewing his thumb in thought, the teen absorbed the information and compiled a response.

"Although B was physically stronger than A, in such a small place it would be impossible for his screams for help to be unheard if he did indeed scream for help. Besides, there are no markings indicating that a gag of any sort was used."

Wrinkling his nose, L looked back at the notes before continuing. "On top of that, there is evidence of consensual sexual relations."

"Explain the wounds," Quillsh commanded.

"A and B seemed to have had a little romp at some point in the late afternoon. Some time afterwards, A admitted to B that he was going to commit suicide. B being curious, wanted to watch. As A was losing blood quickly, he began to panic. Attacking the person nearest him in an attempt to get out, B defended himself and the wounds were torn open in the struggle. A bled to death; it was suicide."

Wammy frowned slightly. "You're paraphrasing, and badly at that. On top of that, I don't think you understand A's personality." Sighing, the older man wiped his spectacles. Once they were set back in place he spoke again. "You know it in here," he stated patting the boy's head, "but you need a lot more work translating it to here." The statement ended with his cold fingers brushing against the boy's thin lips. "Very well, go to your room. I'll be sending up courtroom dialogues as well as files on each of your potential successors."

"Why would I need those?"

"The dialogues will help you formulate better responses and you need to understand the potential successors better."

Biting his thumb hard enough to draw blood, L turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Hehehehe. Ah ha. Ha."

The silence was driving him crazy. Why? Before, silence was comforting, emptiness was desirable. Now? It was haunting. A's blood seemed to have stained his body; it was on his tongue, under his skin, in his head, everywhere. Really, it was quite ironic. Never in his life had A looked as at peace as he did when his eyes slid shut in death. Another round of strained laughter echoed in the small, neat room. Even when the door clicked open, B could not contain his laughter. It brought tears to his blood-shot eyes.

"Beyond, are you ok?"

Ah, it was the kind and cold Mr. Wammy.

"Where's the little ice princess?" he teased through his fits of giggling. "Is he locked away in a safe little room where none of us bastard orphans can bother him?"

The old gentleman came around the heavy oak desk and knelt on his knees next to the young teen. B refused to uncurl from his position and his watering eyes refused to let the tears fall. Wammy inspected the shivering body, frowning at the sight of bruises that were no doubt caused by his male staff tearing him away from A.

"Beyond, we know that you didn't kill A. You will not be punished or implicated. I'll also talk to all the staff and make sure that they won't gossip or spread rumors. Classes will start up on Tuesday and I expect to see you there."

The laughter died and those thin lips turned down into a frown. How typical of Wammy to push his agenda and only give the minimal amount of time for mourning. There was no sadness in that voice, no tears in those eyes. Almost was just another person and at best, his death was nothing more than a nuisance.

"Has the little china doll started to balk against you yet?"

That finally got a reaction from the old man. "What?"

"Who knows, maybe he'll go so far as to show his face to us? I would really like that. Yes, I would like that a lot."

Finished with his taunt, B rolled to his other side. Quillsh silently got up and left the room. The sight of a golden-haired child sitting beside the door caught his attention. "Mello?"

Turquoise eyes looked up. "Is he ok?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, of course. If you bring him some clothes, you can take him back to his room." No sooner had the words let his mouth than there was a blur of movement and the child was gone.

~_~_~_~_~_

It had taken Mello two hours to convince the sluggish B to get dressed, and another hour to get him to his room. Once they were at the door, however, B wouldn't budge. He just stood there, slouched and with an empty expression.

"Are you scared?" the younger of the two asked. "Want me to go in and make sure nothing will hurt you?"

'_I'm not afraid.'_ B thought to himself._ 'I don't care. So why won't my legs move?'_

"It's ok," Mello comforted before opening the thin door. Even though he was scared that a ghost was going to pop out at any moment, he wanted to be strong for his friend. Searching the mostly naked room carefully, he sighed in relief. There were no ghosts, goblins, or the like.

Going back into the hall, he grabbed the older boy's thin hand and tugged. "C'mon, it's safe in there."

Snorting in amusement at Mello's innocence, he followed along. _'Really, I don't care. A was just another person. No one special.'_

Looking around his room, he felt sick. The stench of bleach assaulted his sensitive nose and he could tell that his entire bed, sheets and all, had been replaced. Floors had been scrubbed, walls disinfected, room aired out. Every memory of A was stripped out of the room.

"Do you want me to get you some jam?" that little voice asked, breaking the teen's train of thought.

"No, I'm ok." Really, nothing was wrong. I'll be ok. "I'm going to take a nap."

Stroking the ivory hand with his warm cheek, Mello looked up at his friend in concern. Something seemed a little off with him. Maybe he was just tired. After all, it had been quite a scary night, and all those bruises on his body meant that it had been rough on the older boy as well.

"Um, I'll go back then. I guess. Matt will probably be worried if I'm not back soon."

Ruffling the silken strands of blond hair, Beyond sighed and headed for the bathroom. As if in a trance he walked into the very room that had witnessed a young boy's last moments and he settled into the bathtub as if it were a bed of the finest down. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Mello shuffled out of the room. He hoped that everything was going to be ok.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Ok, so I really wanted to give some depth to the perfect Mr. Wammy. Although he generally is a softie, I always believed that he had to have a strong resolve to make all those orphans fight so hard for the place of being the next L. To him, this is his ultimate dream. L has the perfect mind and he wants to make it work to its fullest extent; on top of that, he desperately wants to see if he can copy that. At least, this is to go along with the reasoning in **_**Another Note**_**. **

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please leave me a review!**


	10. Marble Children

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note or its characters.**

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* * *

  
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A soft breeze blew past the green grass, tickling the long slender blades. Sunlight stroked the sharp stalks, making them glint as they waved in the breeze. Sadly, that beautiful grass was promptly trampled on.

"Go go go!"

"Get him! Don't let him score!"

WHACK!

"Whoo hoo!!! I'm unstoppable!"

Matt looked up from his spot under a tree to see that Mello had scored again. His teammates all jumped up and down, slapping him on the back and laughing happily. Sighing unhappily, he continued to watch as his only friend smiled back and gave away high fives. Seeming to sense his friend's unhappiness, Mello turned back to look at the brunette. A large white smile broke across his face and he ran over to the socially retarded boy.

"Aw, leave him alone, Mello!" some of the boys called out.

"Yeah, let's play another game!"

"Gimme a sec!" Mello replied before stopping in front of the younger boy. He wasn't even really out of breath from all the running. "Hey, come play with us, Mattie."

"Nah, I don't think so," the gamer snorted as he tried to turn his attention back to his Pokèmon game. The newest Gameboy color was clutched desperately in his pale hands.

"But you never play with me," the blond whined, dramatically huffing and throwing his arms in the air. "I play your dumb games, so come play mine!"

"I don't know about you," Matt snickered, "but I never play dumb games."

"Don't be so difficult," Mello commanded before deciding that he was going to force Matt into the game.

Grabbing a hold of Matt's oversized hoodie, Mello began to tug mercilessly, dragging his unfortunate friend out onto the field. At first, the younger boy tried to fight off his friend, but soon he gave up. Once Mello got something in his pig-headed mind, he wouldn't ever give up. It was useless. Besides, it was way too much effort.

The boys on the field groaned when they saw Mello dragging the other boy out to play. Matt had a record for being the worst teammate one could ever imagine. He was too lazy to chase after balls, he hated being out in the sun for longer than ten minutes, he didn't bother to learn the rules of the game, and to boot, he had almost no coordination to speak of. Yes, he was an absolute nightmare. The oldest of the boys, fourteen year old Joseph, approached the two younger boys.

"Mello, why are you bringing that lazy square **(1)** out here for? We've got enough players."

"Well, I wanted to sit out for a round, so I pick him as my sub," he replied easily making everyone (including Matt) gawk at him like he had completely lost his marbles.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Matt hissed, looking over nervously at the unhappy boys. "They'll kill me!"

"Come on, Matt," Mello huffed. "You need to go out and make some friends. Just have fun!"

"Being tackled and getting broken bones is not my motherfucking idea of fun!" Matt shouted. All the boys winced at his foul language.

"Go." Mello's face spoke of nothing but determination. Also, he was sure that Matt was just exaggerating. After all, last time he just got a tiny bruise. No big deal, right?

Seeing that he had no choice in the matter, Matt decided to just get the punishment over as quickly as possible. Handing the blond his precious Gameboy, he shuffled out onto the field. Everyone shot him an evil glare of death, but he just scratched his head and yawned.

"Just stay out of the way," Amos warned as he pushed past the American. "And don't talk, it's just annoying."

"At least I don't have a weird accent like you do," Matt replied with a smirk. He knew how badly his New York accent bothered all these kids.

Mello sat on the grass and watched as Matt just stood off on the side of the field. Almost immediately, Matt squatted down and started picking at the grass making Mello facepalm. Sometimes he really wondered if Matt was really _that_ socially retarded or if he just didn't want to put forth the effort to make new friends. Tilting his head he tried to understand that. Why wouldn't someone want to make friends? It was fun! Besides, you could always have someone to talk to or play with if you had lots of them.

Matt had lost interest in the game as soon as it started. How could anyone think that running around in a confined area kicking a stupid ball with your feet was fun? It just wasted energy and in the end it showed no accomplishment except for the bruises and scrapes that the boys would show off and gloat about. Trying to sink further into his hoodie he also wondered what was so awesome about having marks all over your body. His father would make him black and blue and no one praised those bruises. It was just dumb.

Since he was so deep in thought, Mello didn't notice until too late that Amos was dribbling the football straight in the direction of Matt. Since the younger boy had his focus on the grass, he wouldn't be able to see it in time. "Mattie!" he called out as he jumped up and dropped the handheld game. The sound of a painful collision echoed out only a second later.

Typical. Sitting all alone in a _remote_ corner of the field, and he still managed to get tackled. Perfect. Pain bounced around in his head like a ping pong and he struggled to catch his breath. That damned Amos had knocked the wind out of him and had knocked the goggles right off his head.

"J-jackass," he sputtered as he kept his sensitive eyes squeezed shut. His hands groped around blindly for the swimming goggles before he heard the gasps coming from the other boys.

"Ugh, that's so gross!"

Panic flared up in Matt. They had seen the scars. Pulling his hands back into the long sleeves, he just curled up and tried to will those damn boys away.

"Dude, did you see his hands?"

"Man, that was so ugly!"

"Hey, show us again, Matt!"

"Where'd you get scars like that? They were so-"

"SHUT UP!" Everyone got silent as Mello stood there, seething. His blue-green eyes were flashing dangerously, daring someone to piss him off even more. "There's nothing wrong with his scars, you pansies! And he was way out of the way, Amos! Are you that bad at football that you couldn't stay clear of him?"

"But he-"

"Fuck off," he spat, using a word that Matt was so fond of. Grabbing the goggles that were splayed out on the grass, he reached into the sleeves of the hoodie and grabbed his friend's hand. With one last glare at the others, he helped Matt up and led him towards the house.

Matt followed his friend blindly, trusting that Mello would get him out of there safely. He wanted to cry, but he didn't want to humiliate himself any further. Besides, Mello usually cried enough for the both of them. Once they reached the house, the blond carefully put the goggles back on his friend's head.

"Hey, don't worry about them," Mello mumbled, still holding on to the other's hand.

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Do they hurt?" he whispered, eyes wide and concerned.

"No," Matt sighed. Sometimes when he woke up from a nightmare he could still feel the stings from his father's belt buckle, but for the most part they were healed up fine enough. "They're just ugly."

"I don't think that they're ugly," Mello stated confidently, making his friend look up in confusion. With a large smile, the older boy tugged up the oversized sleeve until he could clearly see the hand and the white jagged scars. With his eyes locked on Matt's, he leaned down and pressed small kisses to the each scar.

~_~_~_~_~_

It had been nearly a year since A had committed suicide. All that time had given him time to think. Yes, there were lots of things to think about. Death. Death. Backup.

Slurping the jam loudly, Beyond was slowly making his way to his room. X, Y, and Z were sitting at the top of the stairs, making fortune tellers. The crinkling of the paper annoyed the older boy, but he just ignored it. They weren't hurting anyone.

"Want to help us, B?" Z, the youngest of the Letters, called out with a mischievous tone.

"Yes, come help us," X added.

"No," B replied without a second thought.

"No fun," Y teased. Then a cruel smile. "A used to play with us all the time."

The desire to cause irreparable damage to those three idiots was near impossible to ignore, but Beyond was a legend when it came to self-restraint. "That's nice." Good, no emotions were shown. Just like dearest little ice princess.

"Then how about you teach us to wear make-up like you?" X piped up.

"Oooh, that sounds like fun," Z said excitedly. "Roger won't be able to get on our case if you're the one who's teaching us. He's too scared of you!"

"…"

This time, B didn't even bother with a reply. They didn't really want him to teach them anything, they were just trying to find the right buttons to push. Those three were the youngest, and under him, the next smartest. A smile tugged on the corner of his pink stained lips. My oh my, it seemed that they were planning to make their move soon. After all, anyone would be irked if they were all ranked under someone considered "creepy" and "unstable". Since they couldn't get ranked above him fair and square, they were going to try to take him out in a different way.

"Ah, we should leave him alone," Y warned with false concern. "After all, he might go on a rampage and kill us all too."

"That's scary!" X whined.

"Yeah!" Z agreed with a calculating glance at the older boy. "I don't wanna get chopped up."

So they were going to push him over the edge, were they? As if. Brats weren't going to make him lose his cool. Only one brat could do that and his name began and ended with an L. Another long slurp from the cool jar and he was walking away as if nothing had happened. At that moment, the roar of children being herded into the house echoed against the marble and wood interior. Picking up the pace, B was fully intending to lock himself up in his room as usual, but that golden haired child caught his attention. Chatting away at the children on each of his sides, he seemed to be the center of attention as usual.

How lovely. Mello seemed to thrive on the attention, drinking it up like the deadly cocaine that his friend itched to have running through his veins. The said friend was on the outskirts of the crowd inspecting the new game thing that L had bought him for passing one of his etiquette tests. Glancing over to X, Y, and Z he smiled even wider as he saw them glaring at Mello. The boy was catching up to them at a god-like speed and they weren't too fond of that.

Taking the near empty jar of jam, Beyond leaned over the railing above the children and he dropped the heavy glass container. It fell between two gossiping girls and the shattering sound made all of the kids scream. One of the girls, Amy Kind was her name, began to cry over some nicks on her thin legs caused by the shattered glass and her friends rushed to help her. Everyone looked up to see him laugh and the nannies bit their lips not knowing what to do. After all, he was too old to get spanked by Roger, and with the majority of people in the orphanage believing that he murdered A, they were all too afraid to chastise him. Aquamarine eyes looked up curiously at B. The dark-haired teen just laughed a bit harder and headed towards his room.

As expected, there was soon a knock on his door. Leaning back against his pillows and closing his eyes, he waited for Mello to come in. There was the click of the door being opened and the click of it closing again. Soft sounds of bare feet ghosting across the wooden panels tickled his ears before they paused beside the bed. "B, is something bothering you?"

"Come lay with me," he asked, patting the space next to him on the plain covers. Mello obliged and snuggled into the older boy's side.

"So, what's wrong?"

"Mmm, it's nothing, голубь **(2)**. Nothing at all. I just wanted to see their reaction."

"What's that funny word?"

"It's just Russian for something."

"For what?" Mello whined as he tried to tickle the older man. Matt always submitted to his interrogations when he tickled the younger boy.

"You'll figure it out one day," B retorted confidently.

One eye peeked open to watch Mello poke at his jutting ribs. The young boy was already growing up so fast. His skin was tanning from the hours he spent outside playing football and his baby fat was slowly disappearing. Still, he could feel that warmth. Rolling to his side to lean over the younger boy, Beyond stared at him. Mello just watched curiously, not at all afraid. "Stay," the older boy whispered.

"What did you say, B?"

"Will you…stay with me tonight?" he asked, a strange look on his face.

Getting worried for his friend, Mello nodded. "Ok."

Leaning back to sit with his back to the wall, Beyond lifted up the smaller boy and set him on his lap. Wrapping his arms around the boy, he couldn't help but be intrigued by the warmth. This was Wammy's House, the house of marble children. No one was soft, no one was warm! But here in his arms, here he was. Nothing but warmth and softness. He was an anomaly. Breathing in deeply, he nuzzled that neck wishing that things wouldn't have to be this way.

~_~_~_~_~_

It was already dark. Everyone was getting ready for bedtime. Nannies busied themselves with cleaning up after the children and the children busied themselves with trying to get out of brushing their teeth. Having never owned a toothbrush until he got to Wammy's House, Matt was not like that. He didn't understand what the big deal was. It felt good to have clean teeth. Still, his thoughts were not on his toothbrush tonight. No, his thoughts were on the fact that Mello hadn't shown up yet. After that weird stunt by B, Mello ran over to see if he was alright, and he never came back.

Part of Matt was freaking out because all the rumors of B murdering a friend of his. Mello was his only friend and he didn't want that jerk to hurt him. Still, if he was dangerous, why would Mello go to his room? It just didn't make sense to him. Biting his lip, Matt decided that he had to chance it. When a person only had one friend it was natural for them to worry over them, right? Yeah.

Sneaking past some of the busy nannies, he headed towards the rooms that were off-limit to all of the younger kids. These were the rooms for the Letters. Gulping slightly, he forced his shaking legs to move forward to the one door he had seen Mello slipping through often enough. Someone in the room next to him coughed loudly making the brunette jump up in fear. Heart beating wildly, Matt wondered why he was doing this. If he was caught, he would be in so much trouble. After all, no one wanted a repeat of what he called the Night of Terror.

"Damn it, Melly," he whined under his breath.

B was the worst of all the Letters, so why the hell did Mello have to pick _him_ as a friend?! Even to this day, his heavily painted face and weird eating habits gave the young American the heebie jeebies. What did Mello see in B? Then again…what did Mello see in him? He was a boring, unmotivated brat from America. He was covered with scars and his body was addicted to cocaine. On top of that, he was plagued with nightmares and sick spells. There was absolutely nothing redeemable about him. So why?

Finally standing in front of the ominous door, Matt couldn't help but hold his breath. A single sweat drop trailed down his neck, sending chills through his body. Fuck, this was like a horror movie when the idiot was going to walk right into the room where the guy with the chain saw was. Yeah, he was _that_ idiot.

Before he could even muster up the strength to knock or to just rush into the room, a sound caught his attention. Pressing his ear against the door, he listened carefully.

~_~_~_~_~_

Mello really couldn't help but giggle. B's hot breath mercilessly drove the sensitive nerves on his stomach crazy. Looking up through midnight black bangs, B just smiled mischievously and continued to tease the smaller boy.

"S-stop!" he squealed playfully as he felt those cold fingers poke his ribs. "Not fair, I (giggle) wanna do that to you! My-hyaa! My turn!"

"Such a naughty, koi," B chuckled as he dragged his tongue over the boy's belly button. Mello's reaction was beautiful to him.

Why was it that the more he looked at Mello, the more he touched him, the more he felt as if he was slowly destroying something precious? Splayed out under him, a child of such innocence of such unbelievable purity. It was impossible to hope that this child would not be touched by the cruelties of the world, but why did he have the feeling that Mello would not only be touched but would be violated by reality? Yes, Mello had his flaws, the largest being his incessant need for attention, but it was nothing worth getting screwed over for. Surely he would grow out of it. So why?

Leaning back to give the blond a chance to catch his breath, a sinking feeling clenched his stomach. It was L. Of course! At one time, Almost had been a normal and beautiful child. He was shy, but it was nothing extreme or problematic; he was nothing like B. However, once he began the impossible task of trying to become the next L, everything just fell apart. The pressure was too much, the tasks were too hard. It destroyed him slowly, killing him in an excruciating way. Ending his life was the only sensible thing to do, and A finally got the balls to do it. A was not like Mello. Mello didn't need to gather the courage to do something unconventional.

Although the numbers didn't show anything about Mello killing himself, that didn't make B feel any better. After all, Almost didn't have those numbers either until he finally decided to end his life. The only way for a person to cheat fate was to cut their life short, and once that was foreseen, the numbers would not change.

"Why do you look so sad, B?" Mello asked, breaking through the silence. His bare chest rose and fell softly as he continued to pant.

"Because he will break you," B mumbled, once again leaning down to tease the boy's flesh. The heat was intoxicating to someone like him. A marble child himself.

"W-who?" he gasped, clenching B's hair in his small fists.

"…Him."

* * *

**Author's Notes: (1) square is a term for a nerd. (2) Russian for "dove". **

**Whoo hoo! Another chapter so soon! So, sorry for any weirdness in this story and the shortness, but it's all building up to the next chapter. Also, I plan on doing some time skips in this story (in case you haven't noticed). This chapter takes place about a year after last chapter. **

**Please feel free to ask any questions or to comment on anything from bad grammar, misspelled words, to phrases that you liked. Also, does anyone want to guess what Matt was thinking as he listened to those sounds outside the door? XD Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. Chocolate for all of you! **


	11. Growing up

This wasn't his room.

Blinking sleepily, Mello allowed his mind to slowly catch up. The large body next to his under the covers was B. The bed was B's. Ah, it was B's room. Groaning as he stretched out his limbs, Mello let his turquoise eyes scan the room lazily before he decided that he was fine with snuggling into B's side. The thin arm around him squeezed him a little. B was awake.

"Morning," Mello mumbled as he tried to go back to sleep. It was warm under the covers.

"You have class," B replied.

"Bleh. Don't you have class too?"

"No."

Looking up in surprise, Mello studied the other's face. There wasn't all that make-up that he usually wore and his hair was a lot flatter than it usually was. That's right, it was because he took a shower last night. Regardless of how he looked, he seemed to be serious.

"That's not fair, you know," Mello complained as he tried to burrow deeper into the sheets.

Patting the younger boy on the head, B scooted off the bed, taking Mello with him. "You should go back to your room to get ready. And don't be late, or you'll get in trouble."

"Me and Matt get in trouble all the time anyway," the blond grumbled, not happy about having to go to classes. Still, B wouldn't budge, and Mello had to leave to attend his courses.

~_~_~_~_~_

Mello was annoyed. Since he had spent the night in B's room, he almost ended up being late to class and had completely missed breakfast. They were even serving chocolate muffins! Not only was his morning messed up, but Matt was completely ignoring him! Frowning in confusion, he had spent the better part of the day trying to get his friend's attention which only ended up getting him in trouble with his strict teachers. Now he had three extra essays to write.

"What's his problem?" he asked Toby, a boy in their algebra class. "Matt's been ignoring me!"

"Who knows?" Toby replied with a shrug. "I don't talk to him. Hey, I think you're the only one who does."

"That's annoying," Mello gritted out. "If he made more friends, then I could just ask them what's wrong and I wouldn't have to spend all day guessing!"

"Bummer."

"Well I refuse to be ignored!" Mello shouted, standing up abruptly. Good thing class was already over.

"More power to you," Toby cheered blandly. "Just help me carry up my sculpture to Professor Darwin's classroom first."

"Ok!"

Toby scratched the back of his head, wondering how Mello managed to be so energetic all the time. That boy was like the poster child for sugar highs. Maybe it was all the chocolate that he stole from the pantry.

By the time the two boys managed to carry the three foot, seventy pound sculpture to the art classroom, Mello only seemed to get more agitated and more pumped up. If Matt wasn't ignoring him, the three of them would have been able to carry the thing easily and quickly and then Mello could have gone out to play some football. But noooo, Mattie just had to be difficult today. He was going to make the brunette pay for that. Gritting his teeth, Mello began the task of looking for his difficult friend.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Leave him alone." That one sentence was spoken firmly and with more conviction than a Catholic preaching about the sacred virgin. No one could have guessed that he had spent the entire day practicing it, gathering the courage to say it straight into the face of his opponent. Even Bowser would have been impressed.

However, he was facing a foe much more formidable than Bowser. The dark-haired teen just stared at him as if he were a slimy worm dangling from a hook. And those stains…_"jelly stains"_ he kept whispering in his head…were quite distracting. Still, he clenched his fists tightly and refused to back down. He didn't want his friend to be another kid up on _20/20_ or the _Maury Show_, a victim of sexual abuse. No, he would stop that way ahead of time.

The long drawn out slurp that followed slowly stripped the young boy's confidence. B's eyes never left the shaking boy even as he slurped up the last bit of jam from the jar. His pink tongue darted out and deftly scooped some of the remaining jam into his mouth. Without even having to speak, B was tearing down that carefully built self-confidence, even going so far as to make him squirm.

"Hn." That was the only reply he felt like gracing the coward with.

"D-don't fucking, 'hn' me!" Matt shouted, trying to keep his legs from running off without his permission. "He's my friend and you better leave him alone! I-I'll tell Roger if you don't!"

An eyebrow raised up. Now he was slightly interested; the little crack baby finally felt like standing up to him. He dared to command B to stay away from Mello, as if he alone owned that little fireball. "Nice try, Mattie-kins," he yawned as he set the jar down. "Didn't you ever learn to respect your elders?"

"Who the hell said that? You can't just make up rules! And don't call me that!"

"…I didn't."

"You just did! Anyway, stay away from Mello. He doesn't need someone like you ruining his life."

This was a surprise to Beyond. Why would a nine-year-old accuse him of ruining someone else's life? Mello hadn't even lived long enough to experience "life" yet. Still, that insecurity bubbled up once more.

"You do not own Mello, and therefore you cannot tell me what to do. On top of that, you don't even have seniority to flaunt in my face."

"But-"

"Matt, please leave before I get annoyed."

That was enough to scare off the young Yankee. Turning on his heels, he dashed out of the kitchen and didn't bother to look back. B just sat there on the counter thinking over what Matt had said to him. Maybe he had a point. No one who had ever been around B long enough to be considered a friend or family had ever come to any good. They were all dead. Just like that baby rabbit.

Mentally kicking himself, Matt ran to the library. Tears blurred his vision as he meandered through the aisles, trying to get lost. However, with his photographic memory and hypersensitive mind, it was an impossible task. Finally, he settled down on the floor in an empty corner of the room. Why didn't he stand up to B more? Why had he run away like a little baby? It was stupid! He was stupid.

'_Why do I even bother? I'm probably nothing more than a pain in the ass anyway. Mello likes him just fine, so maybe he's ok with being used like that. I hate thinking that. B doesn't deserve Melly. If he needed a friend so badly, he wouldn't have killed his friend last year. I don't want him to kill Melly.'_

Grabbing a random book off the shelf to busy himself with, Matt was a little surprised when he read the cover. _Computer Programming_ it said. Hmm, that sounded like fun.

~_~_~_~_~_

"I am seriously going to hurt you, Matt!" Mello shouted angrily as he stomped down the halls. The gamer was nowhere to be found.

He was hard to remember if you didn't really know who he was, and since he kept to himself all the time, most people wouldn't have even noticed him. Because of this, he had managed to completely disappear from Wammy's House. It would be supper time soon and if that dumb American didn't show up soon, he would have to eat supper all by himself. As it was, Mello was already considering giving him a taste of his own medicine and ignoring him for a whole week.

Unfortunately, he didn't think he could do that. Matt was just…well, Matt. His quietness calmed Mello down a lot and every time that he flashed that uncertain smile, this funny feeling fluttered in his stomach. Beyond called it "butterflies". Under that mask of anger, Mello was starting to get worried. Didn't Matt want to be his friend? Was he tired of Mello forcing him to play football or to go outside more often? Was he tired of the blond always hugging him and playing with his almost curly hair?

By now, Mello was sniffling. He didn't want Matt to hate him and to leave him all alone. He couldn't help it that he was so touchy-feely! It just, well, he just _needed_ that physical contact, that solid proof that Matt was still there. Every time they touched, it made him feel just right, and that nothing wrong could happen. Without him, Mello just felt agitated and scared. He didn't want to be left alone again.

Glancing around, the young blond saw the entrance to the library. Surely Matt wouldn't be in there. After all, he was always complaining about the fact that he wasn't allowed to turn up the volume to his games in there. The silence made him itchy, he would say. Even so, Mello couldn't pass by the room. He needed to go in there and check it out. Slowly, he made his way through all the rows. Nabokov, Dickenson, Dumas, countless others. Mathematicians, psychologists, biologists, they were all there. Everyone but Matt. Just as he was about to give up his search, a single tennis shoe with undone laces caught his attention. Almost holding his breath, he crept to that single shoe which began to tap in the air. Peeking around the corner, he saw Matt reading a thick complicated looking book.

"Mattie?" he whispered, blond bangs falling over his eyes.

Looking up in surprise, a slow crooked smile spread across his face as Matt recognized his buddy. "Hey, Melly. Wanna sit by me?"

Already forgetting his promise to inflict pain upon the goggle-wearing boy, Mello nodded eagerly as sat next to his friend. Grimacing when he saw weird formulas and stuff in the book, he just settled for holding Matt's hand and resting his head on that body shoulder.

~_~_~_~_~_

"_Has the little china doll started to balk against you yet?" _

Quillsh had tried not to take Beyond's meaningless taunts to heart, but that one sentence had continued to bother him through the course of the year. Of course, he wanted to believe that he would be fine with Lawliet standing up for himself and making his own decisions, but every time he looked at that malnourished twig of a child he couldn't help but think that L would be utterly helpless. He would destroy himself if he was left to his own devises.

Sipping his own Earl Grey tea, he watched as the teen continued to devour the frosted animal crackers. The entire box was nearly empty by now, and just looking at it made the older man feel a little queasy. How was it even possible to eat that much sugar? At that moment, L decided that his own tea didn't have enough sugar in it and he dropped another handful of the white glittering cubes into the already syrupy drink. Dearest, that was probably enough sugar to kill a child with. Speaking of children, he glanced unhappily at the boy's underdeveloped frame.

Since L didn't eat anything remotely nutritional, his body was practically stunted. There was no way to grow and flesh out without the necessary building blocks. Unfortunately, L refused to give in to his body's requirements and he continued along with his detrimental diet. For goodness's sake, his voice hadn't even deepened properly!

"Lawliet, isn't it time to end this?" he questioned with a smile and a twitch of the mustache.

"Enth vath (end what)?" he asked through a mouthful of crushed animal crackers. The gummy worms became his next target.

"End your little boycott on the necessities of life?"

Slurping up a blue and red worm, L just stared at the older man with his wide eyes. Dark bags were beginning to form under his restless eyes from the nights he would spend working instead of sleeping. "If I was doing something as reckless as that, I would already be dead."

That snide comment was enough to make Quillsh laugh. Lawliet was definitely getting better at being sarcastic and a deplorable wise-ass. It was almost endearing. "The human body is stubborn. However, it isn't immortal."

"Of course. If you aren't going to use those sugar cubes, can you scoot them over to me? I'm out."

"No, you've had enough."

Huffing in annoyance, L just decided to improvise; several jelly worms were sacrificed to make his drink even sweeter. Sadly, the worms just rested on top of the sludge-like drink. The poor tea couldn't hold anymore sugar.

"Quillsh, I've already figured out this new case. It was Greg Anderson."

Crinkling his brows, Quillsh couldn't help but feel his heart sink. That was an illogical conclusion. Although this wasn't the first time that L had made a flawed conclusion, the frequency had drastically jumped up. As a matter of fact, after A's death L had been taking stranger cases and with each case, he began to make wilder and wilder conclusions. None of them had been right. Unbeknownst to the child, he had made sure to correct all the mistakes in order to ensure that justice would be delivered properly, but it seemed that each bold step was making him too casual. He wasn't taking these cases seriously anymore.

"Lawliet, are you tired of doing this?"

Dark eyes shot up and analyzed the composed man. He was measuring the tone and the posture trying to decide if Wammy was honestly asking for his opinion. Nibbling on his thumb and drawing his knees up closer to his chest, L replied. "Not at all. It's just starting to get fun."

The disappointment was most likely evident on his wizened face judging by the way L's expression instantly blanked. His mask had been drawn. "Have you been working these cases seriously, Lawliet?" he asked carefully, trying to draw the boy out of his protective shell. "I mean, it would be completely normal if you wanted to have a break from all of these cases. It would be tiring for anyone, especially someone as young as you."

"Please, Wammy," L replied coldly. "You do not need to engage in such a crude attempt to bolster my self-confidence and my drive. I am not one of your stupid children that constantly needs a helping hand."

"You are human, Lawliet, that is all I am trying to point out."

"You were especially careful to break me of that habit," L bit out, shocking the older man.

"I did no such-"

"I need cake now!" L spoke over the man, completely disregarding common decency. "I'll get it myself." With that, he hopped off the couch and slinked off into the kitchen.

Something was wrong. Very terribly wrong. Standing up, Wammy immediately went to his phone and called the only person he fully relied on. "Yes?" came the tired reply from the other end.

"Roger, something's wrong. I need to take L back to Wammy's immediately. Please expect us in a few hours and have his room prepared."

"Yes, of course," Roger replied with concern in his voice. Not once had Quillsh ever called to say that something was wrong, especially with L.

"Thank you, my friend," Quillsh mumbled before hanging up.

Putting stuff together, he began to wonder what he was going to do. How could he find out what was going on with L? A medical examination was already at the top of his mind, and a meeting with a psychologist was a close second. Pausing in his packing, Quillsh couldn't help but chuckle sadly. A psychologist would do absolutely no good to a child who had read more than any doctor of psychology would ever want to. L would just tease the unfortunate doctor until they were either suicidal or convinced of quitting their jobs.

"What are you doing?" L asked before stuffing his entire mouth with a gigantic slice of strawberry cake. His voice did not betray any of the emotions he was feeling only a few moments ago.

"We need to go back to Wammy's House. You can finish your work there."

Tilting his head as he stared at Quillsh, he seemed to be reading the truth as if it were written in bold red letters across that impeccable pinstripe suit. How was it possible that a young boy would easily strip away an old veteran's mask and see the truth of the matter?

Seeing no need to help Wammy prepare to go back to the House where he would predictably be questioned and examined, L turned on his heel and settled for crouching in front of the front window of their hotel room.

~_~_~_~_~_

What could one do about a disturbed genius? Roger submitted to the temptation and banged his head on his desk for a few minutes. L just stared at him curiously. The teen had been under his watch since those two arrived less than hour before.

"Are you in need of some assistance?" L asked flatly. "I can give a mean massage."

Looking up stupidly, Roger couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with this world. That statement was just so ridiculous and it brought unwanted images of L rubbing hot oils on fat people's backs.

"No, I don't need a massage, L." Shaking his head, Roger decided to tackle the problem head on. "If you just tell Quillsh what's been bothering you, you can end this mess. You would be able to get back to work and he wouldn't be forcing you into examinations with health care professionals."

L snorted. "Why must you old people always assume you are right?"

A vein throbbed in his forehead. "And why must you, a young inexperienced brat, always make trouble for Wammy, going so far as to insult his intelligence."

"Hmm, because I can?"

Banging his head on the desk a few more times didn't make L go away. Nope, he just sat there staring at Roger as if he was watching a fascinating new creature. "L, he won't give up until he knows what's wrong with you."

Pale toes clenched the seat cushion tightly. "There is nothing wrong with me. I am L."

Shaking his head, Roger couldn't help but mumble to himself. "Little brat, causing so much trouble for Quillsh. He hasn't even become a man and thinks that he is god-sent to impart his knowledge on us pitiful fools."

"Wanker," L simply taunted before hopping off his chair and exiting the room. Understandably, Roger just sat there in shock.

Biting his near raw thumb, L headed for a room other than his own. The truth was that there were several things that had been bothering him, but he had tried to push them away for the sake of normalcy. However, that didn't work out so well, so now he was going to try a different approach. First off, he needed to find a way to get rid of a new physical ailment that had been haunting him for nearly half a year. Surely his Backup would be able to help with something so…disturbing. After all, B had experience with theses sorts of things.

As L made his way to B's room, the said Letter couldn't help but roll around in his bed. Sleep couldn't seem to whisk him away tonight and it was starting to frustrate him. B hated to be frustrated. If only Mello was in bed with him…

The sound of the door clicking open startled B. Worried that it was the triple threat (X, Y, and Z) or even possibly a staff member coming to finally make an attempt on his life, the teen soundlessly jumped off of his bed and got behind the slowly opening door. A lanky figure walked in, hunched and with his thumb in his mouth. At first, B couldn't figure out who the intruder was, but then it struck him like a lighting bolt.

In his excitement, he practically tackled the other from behind, accidentally kicking the door mostly shut. L yelped in surprise before the two of them crashed onto the hardwood floor. Flipping L over, B was disappointed that he couldn't see L's face in the darkness. A thin streak of dim light shown through the cracked open door, but it only allowed him to sort of see the older boy's silhouette. Before he had the chance to move to turn on the light, L grabbed his wrist with those sharp fingers and held the younger boy still.

"Don't," his surprisingly higher pitched voice commanded softly. Caught off guard, B obeyed him. Since he wasn't allowed to look at L's face, he began to run his fingers over the delicate flesh of the other's face. L grunted in displeasure, but he didn't stop the younger genius's ministrations. "I have a question for you," L asked, his lips brushing against B's fingertips.

"Ha, you are going to ask the Backup a question? Aren't you omniscient?"

"There is no such thing as omniscience," L replied in annoyance. "Besides, this is sensitive information and I don't want to look it up with Wammy looking over my shoulder."

"How sweet, I'm touched," B cooed mockingly. "What can I do for you, little Ice Princess?"

The younger man chuckled as he felt L tense underneath him. So he didn't like the nickname; that B's smile grow wider. "Well, _Beyond_, I just wanted to ask you a simple question regarding physical arousal."

"Eh?!"

* * *

**Author's Notes: Well, this was going to be a longer chapter, but I decided to cut it there. Near will show up the chapter after the next, so no worries! At the beginning of the chapter, B mentioned that he didn't have to go to school. XD He was just skipping out! Also, it shouldn't be surprising to anyone that L's growth is kind of stunted because of all the sugar he eats. But fear not! He will find a solution to that problem in a few chapters (or maybe next chapter). Anyways, I'll give a cookie to anyone who can guess how B's explanation to L will turn out. -wicked grin-**


	12. Surprises

**This chapter will be dedicated to **_**Rude and not Ginger**_** and to **_**ToNightIamgone**_**. Please enjoy the chapter!**

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* * *

  
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"_Well, _Beyond_, I just wanted to ask you a simple question regarding physical arousal."_

"_Eh?!"_

Well, that was definitely something that B wasn't expecting to be asked about.

"I know that you have experience in these sort of things and I figured that my Backup would be qualified to answer questions of this sort."

"Mmm, I'm flattered, _L_." Of course, in the dark, B wasn't able to see L's reaction, but he imagined that a cute pink blush was painting that pale skin. "What can I help you with?" he whispered against the other's cheek.

Seemingly unfazed, L pushed B back and then replied. "I find arousal happening more often and it is very distracting. My work has been suffering. So, how do I get rid of it?"

This was the most ridiculous conversation B had had since the conversation where A tried to explain how to have sex. "You couldn't figure it out yourself? My, my, my, you're disappointing me, Princess."

"I'm not here for your approval, Backup," L retorted without vehemence. He was just annoyed. "I tried touching it to make it go back down, but it just hurt and made me feel sick. Absolutely disgusting."

"Hmm, so it didn't feel good when you touched your erection?"

"No, that was not my idea of feeling good."

"…then what is?"

"Eating a slice of vanilla cake topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream." L almost seemed to shudder in the pleasure of such a thought.

B sweatdropped.

This was going to be an interesting little experience. Pondering the problem at hand, B nodded to himself and came up with a solution that was sure to fix everything. "Are you up for an experiment?"

Sighing in resignation, L nodded. "Fine; it seems like I don't really have a choice.

Smirking to himself, B dragged his fingers down to the baggy jeans that rested on the other's bony hips. Without missing a beat, he shoved his cold hand down the front of the older teen's pants. Jumping at the surprising contact, L tried to slap away B's hand, but B just wrapped his thin fingers around the warm flesh and began to stroke it.

"S-stop!" L choked out, writhing under the younger of the two.

"Don't be prudish, little Princess, just sit back and observe," B practically purred. A mixture between a squeak and a groan was his only response.

Not surprising, the sensitive flesh swelled with blood at B's skillful ministrations. Taking advantage of the odd situation, B pressed a wet kiss to L's jugular before biting down on the tender flesh and sucking harshly on it. L's hands were struggling between shoving him off and keeping him still so that he wouldn't further damage the weak skin.

"I w-want to get rid, ngh! Rid of the arousal!" the detective gasped. "Not l-learn to get it!"

"Well, I can't really get rid of it if you're not aroused, right? Tell me what you're observing, Princess."

"I'm h-hard," he gritted out, trying to rule against the pleasurable sensations, "and my neck hurts where you bit it." Jackass went unsaid. "And quit calling me a P-princess!"

Fondly licking that thin neck to soothe the pain some, B couldn't help but chuckle. "Perhaps you are dragging this out longer than it needs to be. If you quit fighting off the pleasure, it will all end a lot faster."

"Ngh, w-what?" It was easy to see that L was having a difficult time thinking straight.

This only made B laugh harder. "Give in and end it quickly? Or try to fight and only succeed in prolonging your imminent defeat? You're the genius, you tell me which is the better choice."

At first, B didn't think that L would answer the question. However, L threw him for another loop. "Fine, if that's how the game is played, then let's play!"

Inexperienced hands forced themselves down B's baggy slacks. Although cold sharp fingers dug into his flesh a little more painfully than pleasurably, the absurdity of the whole situation just made him fall into another fit of giggles. Who would have ever guessed that L would be trying to jerk him off while he attempted to teach the detective a lesson in humanity? This was too ridiculous. Of course, that's what made it all the more fun.

"Ah, not so tight, Princess; unlike you, I enjoy a healthy amount of sexual release and I'd like to keep it that way." The smile was all too evident in his voice.

"Hurry it up," L growled as he loosed his grip a little. "Make it go away."

"Here, just do as I do."

Licking his lips, B began to focus on finishing off the older boy. Using his other hand to pull down those faded jeans, he then allowed that hand to tease L's scrotum. The said detective bit back the sounds of pleasure, but his own fingers attempted to repeat the actions being performed on him. Soon though, it became apparent that he was only using his fingers and not at all palming the needy flesh.

'_What a strange habit he has,'_ B thought to himself, but he shrugged it off. Even A had his own little idiosyncrasies that would come up during their petting sessions. His yawning had been the most annoying.

"F-feels really strange," L choked out, his breathing becoming labored.

"See? It's almost over." Pulling his hands back, B didn't even give L a chance to cry out in protest before his mouth was wrapped around the throbbing flesh.

Both of L's hands shot up to cover his mouth before those embarrassing noises could get out. The feelings shooting through his body was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was like the feeling of standing on the edge of a beach as you watched a tidal wave approaching. There was no way to outrun it, and there was no way to survive. What could one do but stand and watch as that beautifully destructive forced sailed towards its completion? Even before the waves enveloped your body, you could feel that incredible force racing through your veins and sending your nerve impulses into overdrive.

The obscene wet noises coming from between his legs were just too much. How could sound tip the scales? Regardless, his mind was in no condition to analyze the situation. Climax crashed into him like that tidal wave; completely washing away all of his senses.

B's fingers dug into the trembling thighs as hot semen spurted into his mouth. Letting his own body free from rationale, the younger teen jerked his own length roughly as he swallowed the disgusting fluids. With a slick "pop" he pulled his mouth away from the flaccid member and let himself be carried away into the blissful land of orgasm. A name danced on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to call it out.

It took several minutes before L's breathing returned to normal and he even attempted to sit up and fix himself up. B just left the other alone as he struggled with his own thoughts. He had expected to be happy after having such a nice orgasm, but it wasn't long before his contentedness was ruined. Like a stack of cards collapsing under a sudden sneeze, Beyond's mind came to a shocking realization.

This was wrong. Very wrong.

Clenching his fists, he wiped his eyes before the tears even had the chance to fall. Wasn't L the reason that A had committed suicide? Wasn't he the cold and uncaring figure that watched calmly as all the children struggled to become as close to him as they could? Wasn't he the fucking reason that all of them were losing their minds? Now that the initial happiness that _the _L had come to see him had faded away, B was left with nothing but anger and sadness.

"Well, I don't think that I can keep coming to you with I have this problem," L chuckled, completely unaware of his backup's change in demeanor. The darkness was completely blinding.

"You can do that to yourself," B mumbled as he struggled to think of what to do next.

"I don't believe I'm flexible enough for that," L sighed stupidly. He seemed to be the type to get giddy after sex.

"Just hire some whore then," B spat out. "Just leave us alone."

Tilting his head, L immediately picked up on the hostility. Had he done something wrong? "'Leave us alone'? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, all high and mighty on your untouchable throne, _Princess_. You who don't care about anyone in this house or how much we suffer! Don't you care about A? Do you even know what happened to him?!"

L didn't miss a beat. "Of course. A killed himself because he couldn't handle the job of becoming my successor."

There it was. So simple, so cruel, and so utterly despicable. Didn't he feel a damn thing?

"He died because of you! Don't you even feel an ounce of regret?"

Sighing, L scratched his head. "Why should I? I did not come and force A to end his life. He simply couldn't take the pressure and took the easy route out. How unfortunate."

All of his words were spoken flatly, as if he was doing nothing more than reading out of a phone book. The orphans who were trying so hard to surpass their natural abilities meant nothing to him. He was above that. That's what would happen to Mello.

"You bastard," B hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously. "How dare you speak as if the things we are put through is nothing but child's play! We are constantly pushed to the brink, only to be given a hard shove away from safety! What would you know of that? You are nothing but a spoiled brat!"

Frowning, L couldn't help but feel that there was some kind of miscommunication going on between them. The children were put through rigorous exercises, of course, but wasn't that expected? They were trying to become him, for heaven's sake, what did they expect? He didn't get to where he was by sitting back and relaxing.

"You say that I speak without truly knowing, but isn't that exactly what you are doing, B? Do you even know what I, the 'spoiled brat,' do?"

B was not about to lose. "Of course, we all know what you do, L. You sit at some foreign hotel and solve cases all day." There was still bitterness in his voice. "If you even remotely cared for us, you would solve cases here in Wammy's House and even help to bring up your successor! But no, we're too much of a nuisance for that, aren't we?"

"My identity can't be revealed for safety reasons," L replied as if that would make everything better.

"Well, fuck you," B hissed.

Understanding that he was no longer welcomed, L forced himself up to his shaky legs. His joints popped unhappily and he groaned at the change in posture. B just remained on the floor.

"I apologize for intruding," he mumbled as he headed towards the door.

"Apologize to all the victims," B whispered back. "You're nothing more than a shinigami, dragging innocent victims to their destruction."

For some reason, L couldn't bring himself to get angry at B. Instead, a smile curled his lips up. "Good night."

~_~_~_~_~_

Not feeling tired at all, L headed back to his room, fully intending to go over a few more cases that he was interested in. Another round of dessert would be nice as well. Nearly drooling at the thought of a thick slice of chocolate cake, L nearly missed the fact that there was a discussion going on in Wammy's room. Pausing to eavesdrop, he leaned closer to the door to hear what was being said.

"What?!"

"I'm afraid that he's losing his touch, Roger."

"But that doesn't make sense, Quillsh!"

"Shhh, we don't want the children to hear us."

"Of course."

Their tones got softer, but L just focused more.

"He's been picking these oddly simple cases lately, mate. Not only that, but he's been solving them wrong." L's breath caught in his throat as those words. Quillsh thought he was…wrong?

"But what have you been doing about it? Surely you're not letting him solve the cases wrong."

"Of course not, Roger. It's not a hard matter to fix the problem myself. I only wonder how to explain it to him without-"

The door slamming open made both of the old men jump up and they turned to see an enraged Lawliet. "Excuse me? You think that I am _wrong_, Quillsh?" he hissed, the anger clearly evident in his usually blank eyes. "Me, wrong?!"

A quick glance was shared between the older men before Wammy stepped forward to his young charge. "L, I don't think. I know."

"No, you're the one who's wrong! How could you just-"

Before he could finish his sentence, a loud slap echoed in the room shocking more than one person. Roger stood there with his mouth open while L looked at the wall with an indescribable look on his face. An angry red mark began to blossom across his cheek.

"L Lawliet, what the bloody hell is that?!" Quillsh roared in fury. Pulling the collar of L's shirt down further, the love bite that B had marked him with stood out in a striking contrast to his pallid skin.

"Who did that to you?" Roger jumped in, fearing that perhaps one of the staff members who did know about L did something.

At first, L couldn't even seem to get his mind to come up with a response. He had been slapped. He, L, had been struck by Quillsh Wammy. Not once, in their time together, had Quillsh ever raised a hand to his charge. He had threatened, had taken away toys and treats, he had pestered, and had used countless other means to get L to straighten his act, but not once had he ever spanked or hit the detective. His first instinct was to start crying, but a stronger instinct kicked in. Rebellion.

"Lawliet, you answer me right this instant!" Wammy commanded, grabbing the boy's shoulder painfully tight.

"No," L whispered before looking up into the older man's eyes. "I will not."

Now it was Quillsh's turn to be dumbfounded. Poor Roger really didn't know what the hell to be thinking at this point.

"I am not wrong on the cases and I will not answer your questions." Taking advantage of Mr. Wammy's disbelief, he pulled away from the grip and hastily made his way to his bedroom. Once there, he locked the door before barricading it with a chair.

Trying to control his ragged breathing, L stepped in front of the mirror in his room and stared at the still bloody mark. It was bruising badly. The mark on his cheek was bruising as well, but none of those injuries hurt as much as the one in his heart.

~_~_~_~_~_

Everyone could sense it. Even the gifted artists who didn't have a chance at becoming the next L could feel the tension, the foreboding. Unfortunately, only a few people really knew what was going on.

Wammy and L were not speaking to each other at all and both of them had barricaded themselves within their rooms. However, L was refusing any food or any contact with anyone. He wanted to be left completely alone. When Roger tried to bring it up with Quillsh, the older man had merely huffed and turned back to the case files spread across his desk. Just when poor Roger thought that things couldn't get any worse, something completely unexpected happened. Beyond Birthday had run away.

A single sheet of paper was placed on his bed with his intentions written on it. _"I will not be back,"_ it read. That was all. Every nanny and staff member searched the entire grounds and in every room of the house. They came up with nothing. Nothing at all.

When Matt found out what happened, he felt his heart drop. That's why Mello was acting so weird today. Leaving his Gameboy on his bed, the brunette quietly shuffled to his friend's room. Groups of children were whispering together, speaking about another uproar amongst the Letters. They had just lost another patriarch. Still, Matt could care less about those creepy Letters. The only thing on his mind was Mello.

Slipping into the room, the American wasn't surprised to see Mello hiding under his covers. The bump that was undoubtedly Mello shook slightly and the sound of crying could be heard from the door. Biting his lip, Matt slowly made his way to the bed. There was a jar of jam resting on the dresser.

"Melly? Are you ok?"

Another pathetic whimper and another round of sobs was the only response. Ok, so Mello wasn't fine in the least bit. Reaching over, Matt patted the lump, trying to comfort the other, but it didn't work at all. If anything, it just made the blond cry even harder.

"Aw, come on, don't do that," Matt begged. He hated to see Mello like this. "Hey, it'll be ok." Doing the only thing that he knew to do, Matt lifted up the covers and slid under them alongside Mello. Wrapping his thin arms around the blond, he pulled the older boy into his chest. "Shhh, shhhh, it'll be ok. It will be ok, Melly."

_/…/…/_

"_Mmmn, why'd you wake me up so early?" Mello yawned as he rubbed his tired eyes. B had come into his room and shaken him awake even though it was only one in the morning._

_They were both standing outside in the darkness and the wet grass, and B was looking thoughtfully towards the distance. It was almost as if he was seeing something that mere mortals could not dream of seeing._

"_I'm leaving." _

"_Hmm? When will you be back?" the young boy asked as he tried not to shiver too much in the cold air._

"_Mello, I…won't be coming back."_

_Staring up in shock at the older boy, Mello didn't know what to do. Was B just kidding? Why would he leave? _

"_Um, please d-don't joke like that," he whispered with tears filling his eyes. It was all a joke, so why was he crying?_

_B's eyes looked down at the child, and the pain was all too evident. This was no joke. "I'm really leaving, Mello."_

_It almost felt like suffocating. All thoughts of sleep had vanished from the child's mind as he tried to think of a way to convince B not to leave him. He just couldn't leave!_

"_B-but why?" Mello choked, several teardrops rolling down his cheeks. "I don't want you to go!"_

_Beyond fell to his knees and pulled Mello into a hug. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but he just did what felt right. "There are things that I need to do. But you need to stay here. You need to grow up strong, so that you can be a good person."_

_A good person, a proper man, it was all the same in his mind. Why couldn't he be a good person with B around? "Please don't leave me, B, please!" The sobs were getting stronger. _

"_I've done enough damage," he whispered more to himself than to the other. "You have to understand, Mello, I can't do this anymore. I won't take this shit like some mindless drone. I have to fight back against the system. You'll see, I'll crush L; I will step all over him. Then you'll have to acknowledge that he isn't the best anymore."_

"_I don't understand," Mello whispered not wanting to let go of his dear friend. _

"_You cannot be the successor," B replied firmly. "You are soft and warm, you have feeling, you are alive! You can never let yourself be drawn into that harshness, you cannot become like everyone else!" Beyond understood that he was just rambling. The child couldn't possibly understand what he was feeling and what he was trying to convey. _

"_B-but, but-"_

"_It's ok," B whispered, stroking the fine strands of hair. "You may never understand, but that's ok. Just don't give in. Never give up." Once Mello nodded, he sighed and squeezed the boy tighter. "Can you do me a favor?"_

"_A-anything."_

"_X, Y, and Z think that they are so hot," the older teen said with a smile. "Show them that you are better. Show them that you are better and that you don't need to become L to become the best."_

_Still confused, Mello tried hard to understand what B was saying. To be honest, he really did want to become the next L. It was an honorable position and his Mama would be so proud. On top of that, he could be proud of himself for getting there when all the other kids didn't. But, at this moment, he couldn't tell that to B. _

"_I'll win," he replied at last, wiping his face on B's shoulder._

"_Now, I really should go soon," he sighed, still stroking the boy's hair. "I left some jam for you in your room. Eat it when you feel lonely." Mello only held on to the other's shirt tighter, as if he could physically stop B from leaving. Pulling back, B took the child's face in both hands, imprinting that face into his memory. "Oh, Mihael," he whispered before bringing their lips together. _

_It was not the kiss of lovers forever parting. Neither was it the kiss of a mother to her child. This was a kiss special to the two of them. For a single moment in time, their breath became one, their bodies were one, their hearts were one. Mello held on for as long as he could, but all too soon B was walking away. _

"_M-my name is Mihael Keehl," he called out breathlessly as he watched the hunched figure get further._

_Laughing, B stood straight up. Running his hand through is hair and turning to face the small boy, he presented himself for the first time. No make-up, no pretend. "I am Beyond Birthday, Mihael. I'm glad that we met!"_

"_Me too!" Mello called out, the tears still running down freely._

"_Ah ha ha ha!" Spinning around, B didn't let the boy see the tears that ran down his own face. "No, no, it should be more like, Kya ha ha ha!"_

_He was leaving his home, his friend, his lover, his everything. _

/…/…/

"Mattie, please don't leave me too!" Mello sobbed as he held on to the other boy. "Please!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Matt promised, squeezing his friend tighter. "I promise you, I'll never ever leave you alone."

~_~_~_~_~_

"Dear heavens," Quillsh mumbled as he stared at all the work in front of him. He couldn't believe his eyes. It had taken him thirteen days straight to see it, but there it was.

"Quillsh? Is something wrong?" Roger, looking far more haggard than usual, sat heavily on the chair next to his friend.

"Ah, first tell me how the search for Beyond is going."

"He's vanished," Roger sighed. "Completely vanished."

"Well, I suppose that L will take the case and search for him."

"Quillsh?"

Mr. Wammy chuckled and looked at his concerned friend. "No, I haven't lost my marbles yet. However, I have just realized something."

"What is it?"

The grin on Mr. Wammy's face grew wide. "For the first time in my life, I was wrong, my old friend."

"Excuse me?" Roger asked, completely taken aback.

"It took me thirteen days, but I finally see it. L was picking a new type of case, one in which there were a deeper level of reasoning required. I never noticed it, and I was solving theses cases just like any other nincompoop!"

Quillsh Wammy was a genius in his own right, far more intelligent than many of the children at the House could ever hope to be, and here he was admitting that he was _wrong_? "I'm going to need some bourbon," Roger replied in disbelief.

"Ha ha ha! Bring some for me too! I have some apologizing to do. Come, come along!"

Well, he was acting pretty happy for someone who was just proven wrong by an immature and petty teenage boy. "You seem awfully chipper, Quillsh," Roger complained.

"Don't you understand?" the older man asked excitedly. "He did it! He surpassed me, completely! That's exactly what I've been hoping for, and here it is! L has demolished all the barriers of genius and has become the best!"

Not wanting to ruin his friend's happy mood, Roger decided not to mention anything about the hickey that L was still undoubtedly sporting. He just followed his friend to the room that had been sealed shut for the past thirteen days. Knocking on the door, Wammy could barely contain himself.

"Quillsh, get a grip on yourself!" Roger chided. "You're an old man!"

"Lawliet, I want to apologize," Wammy called out, ignoring his friend. "I was wrong. You had solved all the cases correctly."

For a moment, there was still no response. Then slowly, the door creaked open. A single dark eye peeked from the crack to stare at the two older men, judging if they were being honest or if they were just trying to get him out. Realizing that Wammy was sincere, L opened the door a little wider.

"Are you surprised?" he asked flatly. Roger wanted to slap that impetuous child, but Quillsh just laughed.

"Yes, I am. I had hoped, L, but I never truly believed."

"And now?"

'_Now he's just milking it,'_ Roger thought.

"I believe. You were right."

After a brief moment of silence, L proceeded to surprise the two men. "I want to get a tattoo."

"Are you crazy?!" Roger shouted before Quillsh laughed and patted his shoulder.

"It's just a tattoo, Roger. What's the harm?"

Slapping his forehead, the younger of the two gentlemen realized that it was a losing battle. Quillsh was so excited about finally losing to someone that he was now completely ready to fulfill any foolish whim of that boy. However, Quillsh had a point. How bad could a small tattoo be? Besides, no one would see it anyway.

"What do you want it of?" Quillsh asked the boy good-naturedly.

"Death." The response was immediate and confident. A small smile even played on the boy's lips. "I want a Tebori tattoo of a Western shinigami on my back."

* * *

**Author's notes: Hmmm, a lot of stuff happened in this chapter. Not where I should start. :) Tebori is a traditional way of getting tattoos in Japan. It's a set of needles attached to a handle and the tattoo artist will jab it into your skin and yank it out like the electrical tattoo gun will do. It's painful, but it supposedly does less damage to the skin and since you have better control of the needles, you are able to mix colors a lot better, creating a more detailed work. The tattoos you will see on Yakuza are usually done Tebori style. Also, the Western shinigami is just a fancy way of saying the Grim Reaper. **

**EDIT: In order to prevent confusion, this is what is going on with the cases that L was solving. What happened was that L was working on a bunch of cases at the same time. Instead of only picking high rated crimes as usual, he began to lower level cases under different pseudonyms. Now, he was picking lower level that were actually higher level crimes that only appeared to be lower leveled. Like, a governor's son committed murder and then dumped the body in the ghetto were there is plenty of crime and plenty of criminals. Something like that. Those were cases that needed to be looked at in a different light to be solved correctly. Now, Wammy didn't realize this and thought that L was just making outrageous conclusions.**

**Also, I remembered something VERY important. It's the word "_writhing_". I've read so many stories where people say "withering" and it drives me up the wall! Withering is dying or fading away. In the case of sex, if someone withers, it's more than likely referring to them being turned off and losing excitement. Writhing is squirming around sexily. So, I don't mean to make anyone mad! It's just something I noticed in stories and felt like I had to say it. XD  
**

**Please review and let me know how I'm doing! Also, next up is NEAR!!!!**


	13. Glass Beads

**Sorry for the delay in updating! As an apology, I've given you guys a long chapter. XD Thanks for all the support and I hope you will enjoy this.**

Heartbreak.

That was the only way Matt could describe what was ailing his friend. Mello wouldn't go out to play, he rarely ate, and Matt had to literally drag him to classes. For some reason, Mello's groupies thought that picking on Matt would bring the blond out. Unfortunately, Mello didn't come out to save him, and Matt always hid the bruises. Taking a beating was nothing for him. However, seeing his friend in mourning was eating him up. Where was the happy and energetic Mello? Each day it was becoming more and more painfully obvious that B had left with that carefree child.

"Melly, you need to go outside," the brunette stated as he sat next to his friend. Mello just ignored him and scooped a little bit of jam from the jar that he was never seen without. The jelly-coated fingers made their way into that warm mouth. "Come on, I'm being serious! You can't stay in here!"

"Go away," Mello sighed as he pulled his fingers out of his mouth.

Hearing that, an idea popped into Matt's head. It was a terrible idea, but it was bound to get Mello outside.

"Fine. I'll leave, Mello." Aquamarine eyes glanced up, measuring out what Matt meant by that. "Since you obviously don't want me, I'm leaving here."

Panic flared in those eyes. "Wait, no!"

"Sorry Mello, but I have no reason to be here if you don't want me." Standing up, Matt ruffled his own messy hair. "It was nice knowing you."

The next thing he knew, Matt was seeing stars and pain exploded on his chin. Falling hard on his butt, the brunette was too surprised to do anything but stare wide-eyed at a tear-stained Mello towering over him with a clenched fist. "Don't you dare!" the blond angel screamed as a few more tears slipped down his cheeks. "I won't let you leave me, never! You promised!"

Ginning stupidly, the younger boy just rubbed his sore chin. "Yeah, I'll never leave you; I'm not like the rest of them."

"D-don't joke like that," Mello hiccupped before he fell into Matt's arms and squeezed the younger boy tightly.

"Sorry, I won't ever say that again, m'kay?" A nod was the only response. "Come on Melly, teach me that stu- er, ah, football."

Having successfully convinced Mello to come play outside, Matt forced himself to act interested in soccer, which the weird British call football. The rules were simple enough and the game required lots of physical exertion, but it was still so damn boring. Besides, Matt hated physical exertion. It was bad enough to sweat when you weren't moving, but it was completely stupid to purposefully move around enough to make your sweat glands go into overdrive. Gross.

But still, a boy's got to do what a boy's got to do. At first, Mello barely go into the game, but after a few minutes of the brunette proving his inability to get his foot to even touch the black and white ball, a giant grin spread across the older boy's face. Poor Mattie was trying so hard, but he was an utter nightmare on the field. The other team knew this as well and was taking full advantage of it.

Deciding to salvage the game before his teammates decided to lynch his Mattie, the European blond took a deep invigorating breath. With a loud war cry, he charged through all the startled players. It was a beautiful scene as the golden child dragged his team to victory single-handedly. Blood flushed his cheeks and sweat made those thin strands of hair stick to his neck and forehead, but those striking eyes were focused on the ball. Those feet moved with god-like speed, making the child fly down the field and it almost seemed as if angels themselves guided the ball as he kicked it into the goal over and over.

Seeing that smiling face, Matt couldn't help but think that forcing himself to play such an awful game for his friend's sake was the nicest thing he had ever done. Besides Kennedy, Matt had never lifted a finger to help others but he was pleased to find that it gave him a nice warm fluttering feeling. Yeah, it was definitely worth it to pull Mello out of his little slump.

That and now he was able to just sit in the corner of the field just like he wanted to. Now that they were winning, all the other players completely forgot about him. Plopping down on the itchy grass, Matt began to fan himself with his long sleeve. Ever since arriving at Wammy's, the American had refused to wear anything that wouldn't cover the scars on his hands, so now he was outside in the blazing sun with a sweater. Of course, the shorts he was wearing helped to cool him down a bit, but it was still overbearingly hot.

"Damn, I'm gonna give myself a fucking heatstroke," he grumbled, dabbing the sweat off his forehead with his other sleeve.

A shrill victory cry sounded out through the humid air and Matt couldn't help but grin widely. Mello was doing a strange little victory dance at the goal and the other team was hanging their heads in shame. The victorious team tackled Mello to the ground and showered him with praise and all kinds of words of adoration. The young boy practically glowed with pride and he enjoyed the attention. After a few minutes, the other team demanded that they play another game and that new teams needed to be formed. Of course, the winning team disagreed and an argument ensued. Matt just chewed on grass as he watched the kids argue over something so retarded. Seriously, how old were they again?

Three games later, Matt had finally convinced Mello that it was time to go back inside. Miniscule welts covered the brunette's legs from sitting on the grass, and he had to bend over and scratch at them every fifteen seconds. Evil Mello couldn't help but giggle at his poor friend's misfortunes.

"Damn it! That's why I hate fucking grass! And why do you always see people chewing grass in all the motherfucking movies?! It's fucking gross!"

"Damn straight," Mello giggled. He didn't really understand the use of expletives that his younger friend used, but he had picked up on the habit.

"Grrr, I wanna cut all that damn stuff down."

"Why don't you?"

"…do you really think I'd do that? I'm too lazy to even take my goggles off before going to bed and you think I'd gather enough energy to mow then entire grounds?"

"Er, no?"

"You wound me, Melly."

Both of the children laughed at the absurdity of their conversation. As they began to ascend the stairs, three teens caught their eyes. X, Y, and Z walked down the carpeted steps. Their condescending eyes looked down on the other two children before dismissing them. After all, how could they even consider Mello a rival for their position? He was nothing more than a stupid little kid who had a knack for commanding attention. The only attention they sought was L's, and he wasn't here to be bewitched by that blond-haired devil. They were safe as long as L never showed his face to the other children, and that was something that they assumed would be true forever. L hadn't even shown his face to the three of them and they had helped him work on the bio-terror case.

Matt flipped them the bird as they passed. He absolutely hated the way that those three looked at him and Mello. It was just like all the other bastards who had seen him outside of his home in New York City. As if he was nothing more than a piece of trash.

"Well guess what, bitches," he hissed, more to himself than to anyone else. "Look where I'm at now. Not dead in some ditch like you all expected."

"What are you talking about?" Mello asked worriedly. Sometimes his friend would go off on things that didn't make sense at all or he'd just zone out for long periods of time. He was afraid that maybe Matt wasn't all ok in the head.

"Nothing, Melly, nothing at all."

"Ok."

Still not sure that Matt was ok, Mello continued to stare at him as they went into their…no, his own room. When Matt abruptly came to a halt with a horrified look on his face, Mello tore his attention away to see what the matter was. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and he felt as if something was squeezing the life out of his heart. Tears brimmed and threatened to fall as he stared at the mess.

Red jam glistened on the floor with the shattered glass frozen in the sticky prison. The hardwood floor seemed to be bleeding from a terrible wound as the jam continued to spread out slowly. For a moment, Mello could hope that this was another jar of jam, not _that_ one, but that was crushed almost immediately. The night table he kept the special jar on was empty.

"I'm so sorry," Matt whispered breathlessly. _'Oh hell, I'm such an idiot! Because I made Mello leave the room and that jam someone was able to come in and…and ruin it! It's all my fault, he'll utterly hate me! I'm really nothing more than a screw up and now Melly's lost something precious because of it. I suck, I don't deserve to be here. Yeah, I deserve to be in a ditch somewhere unloved, alone, dead-'_

"It's…not your fault," Mello managed. Clenching his fists, Mello tried to rein his fury in. It did not take a genius to see who had done this to his precious gift. "I'll make them pay," he hissed as he struggled not to let those tears fall. B would be ashamed to see him always so weak. If B didn't cry, then he shouldn't cry either. He could be just as strong as his dearest friend wanted him to be. "I'll utterly destroy them until they are nothing more than pitiful garbage quivering at my feet!"

Matt looked at his friend in alarm. This was the first time he had ever heard such hateful and vengeful words from the blond and it was quite intimidating. There was no doubt in his mind that once Mello put his mind to something it would get done. Those unfortunate idiots had just placed themselves in Mello's line of fire and he was going to utterly demolish them. Still, it wouldn't be fair to let Mello do all the work. After all, he was the cause of the jar being left unprotected, so Matt felt that he needed to back up the blond on this.

"You can count on me, Melly," he replied softly. "I'll back you up, ok?"

A truly fearsome grin spread across Mello's face. "Hey, you know how to hack into computers now, don't you?"

~_~_~_~_~_

"L, there are some new cases that are ready for you."

Obsidian eyes peeked out from behind the soft fluffy pillow. "Of course," came the muffled answer. "I'll get right on it."

Shaking his head, Wammy added the folders to the ever growing stack on the rarely used desk. If it weren't for the fact that Lawliet was splayed out on the bed, belly-down like a squished frog, Quillsh might have been upset with the boy. His compulsive lying seemed to be getting worse; after all, L was lying to him now! Still, the sight before him was so pitiable that all thoughts of anger were swept away.

Groaning softly, Lawliet buried his face back into the pillow to try to hide his pain and discomfort from the old man. His gaunt back had an unnatural pink shade accompanied by the pitch black ink that had been cruelly shoved into the flesh. Quillsh was pretty sure that L had no idea that tattoos hurt so badly. As a matter of fact, he was pretty sure that the only reason L requested the Tabori style of was because of some movie or television show. Media would never give out details like how much it hurts if only to make the men getting the tattoo seem more macho. Poor boy.

"Do you want some more tea?" he offered. L shook his head. Smiling sadly, Wammy stared at the Grim Reaper that had been outlined. "The outline is just fine, you know. You don't have to go back and get the details put on."

After a moment of consideration, L lifted his head up again. There was a secretive smile playing on his lips and his eyes were shining with an unnamed emotion. "No, I'll finish it. After all, I wouldn't want to disappoint him."

"Who?"

"No one."

Plunk, his head fell back onto the pillow. Quillsh stood there, watching the boy softly breathing. When had this child grown up to the point of keeping secrets? Wasn't he still that little boy who would make snow angels in nothing but his underwear? No, it had been a long time since Lawliet had done something like that.

Shaking his head before he thought too much on the fact that L was growing up in his own warped way, the elderly man went to the other room to check up on Roger and the orphans. Before he got too far, the familiar voice muffled a command.

"Please bring me the reports X, Y, and Z are supposed to have sent me by now."

~_~_~_~_~_

Impossible. Twelve months of extensive, meticulous work, completely gone. Vanished. Every bit of information on the reports that were to be sent to L had disappeared overnight and the three potential successors panicked. At first, they had tried to recover the document in every way imaginable, but those wasted hours brought forth nothing. Their second plan was to write everything from memory, but since all three had been mingling all of their reports, the second plan ended up being a worse disaster than the first. With only two days to turn in the reports, the three teens were forced to try to get all their resources and complete all that work again in the limited time.

Failure. The horror etched on their faces as each time they began work a new computer problem arose. Viruses infected the damnable machines, processors were overloaded with useless garbage, and keyboards refused to work; everything imaginable went wrong. Having no other alternative than to turn to paper, the three worked without eating or sleeping for 28 hours straight. But all was for naught; their task had been impossible.

"Telephone call," Roger informed them. His wizened face scrunched up in worry as he noticed their expressions. It was as if he had issued a death sentence.

"W-who is it?" Y asked, the nervousness easily heard.

"Watari. He wants to know where the reports are."

Z began to chuckle, eyes never even blinking. It was all over for them. They had failed.

"Reports?" X repeated. "These are our reports, sir."

Scattered paper across the carpeted floor.

"You're not finished?!" Roger gasped. How could they not be finished? L had given them an entire year to work on that stuff and they had been working so diligently on it. "What happened?"

"It…it all just vanished," Z whispered before chuckling again. "Poof!"

"It can't have just run off!" Roger reasoned. "Surely you-"

"We searched everywhere!" Y cried. "All that work was gone, without a trace!"

"_Roger?"_

"Ah yes," Roger replied into the telephone.

"Do they have it?" Quillsh asked as he poured some tea for the pitiable L.

"Well, uh, no. They say that the work just vanished."

Wammy frowned as he set the kettle down. "Didn't they back it up?"

"Did you back it up?" Roger asked, hoping against all hope that they had.

Their silence was confirmation.

"_Well then, I'll inform L of what happened. We will be in contact shortly."_

Click.

Roger felt sorry as he watched the three of them struggle to keep their composure. L did not have a reputation of giving second chances. In his stern eyes, once was all it should take to get things done. Any failure was evidence that the child, or children, were not suitable to replace him.

"Perhaps he'll give you an extension," the old man tried, but the Letters couldn't even bring themselves to hope for something so far fetched.

All the while, two younger children sat and watched everything unfold. Soft pink tongues darted out to lick at their icicle pops. A contended grin spread across the older boy's face; it was all over for them now.

"They deserved it," Mello announced without an ounce of mercy. Lick.

"Yup," Matt agreed before wrapping his lips around the cold treat. After a bit of silence, he looked over at his buddy. "Hey, I'm really sorry about B's jar."

Mello's eyes saddened for a moment before he turned to the brunette. "It's ok, Mattie. Besides, I have B here in my heart. I shouldn't need a jar to remember him by."

Still, it was obvious that he missed the shattered jar. Reaching into his pocket, Matt pulled out a little gift and held it towards Mello. "Here."

Gasping in surprise, Mello took a delicate and well crafted bracelet. Dark glass beads were strung up nicely and there was a cross in the middle of it. Raising it up to the light, the blond could see that what he thought was black beads were really deep red glass beads. "Wow, Mattie," he breathed in awe. "How did you get this?"

Scratching his head in embarrassment, Matt looked away towards the wall. "Well, I took all that glass from the jar and gave it to Gena. She's here at Wammy's House because she's good at making glass jewelry, so I figured that she could do something nice. Er, the beads were painted red because, you know, the jam…"

Before Matt could get any more embarrassed, Mello tackled him with a tight hug that nearly knocked them both off them banister they had been sitting on. "Thank you so much," Mello whispered against the younger boy's chest. "Thank you."

Blushing madly, Matt barely managed to get a reply out. "Y-you're welcome. I owed it to you an-anyway."

"Thank you for staying too," Mello continued. When those aquamarine eyes looked up, it was impossible for Matt to remember how to even breathe. "That's why you're my best friend, because you'll never leave."

If that was all it took to keep Mello near him, Matt would willingly oblige. "Yeah, I'll never leave you, Melly."

~_~_~_~_~_

Late in the evening, Wammy called the House again. L had been disappointed and surprised that the three promising teens had failed to deliver. However, he still needed the reports and was in no condition to do it himself. His first instinct was to give the report to Mello who would fall as the next successor, but Mr. Wammy was worried that such a heavy responsibility was too much for the young child. The older man badgered his charge until the weak boy finally gave in and allowed X, Y, and Z to finish the report. Once that message was delivered, the two friends let their conversation drift to things more personal.

Sipping some white tea, Roger shook his head. "I'll never understand you, Quillsh," he conceded. "How can you let that brat continue to disregard your authority? He needs a good whipping now or he'll never learn respect!"

"No, it's not that, my old friend," Wammy chuckled light-heartedly. "I think it's good that he's finally going to kill me."

"What the bloody hell?!" Roger after his mouthful of tea had been sprayed over his desk.

"Ah ha ha ha! Not literally, mate," he quickly interjected before his poor friend succumbed to a heart attack. "He's finally reached his Oedipus stage; it's time for him to kill his father and marry his mother. I have raised him and led him in place of a father, but it has come time for him to make his own way in the world."

"Who's this 'mother'?" Roger asked wearily.

"Justice, my friend. Justice."

**~_~_~_Near_~_~_~**

Five years. One month. Sixteen days. Seven hours. Twenty three minutes. Eighteen seconds.

And counting.

That's how long he had lived in this hell hole. A large innocent farm in the middle of nowhere. Mountains could be seen in the distance and wheat billowed gently in the refreshing breeze. The faint sound of the lawnmower lazily floated through the air. Any sane person would have considered this place a haven, a place of peace and tranquility. Everyone went to church on Sundays and had social lunches on Thursdays. Children hung out at the small public school and parents cheered at the local basketball games. The weather even seemed to impart its blessings around these parts. One had to be nothing short of a demon not to enjoy such a wonderful place. That's why he hated it.

'_I'm nothing but evil.'_

Nate River absolutely loathed his "new home".

'_I'm ungrateful.'_

He hated the glaring sun, he hated the aggravating pollen, and he even hated attending church.

'_No one cares about me.'_

But most of all, he hated that man. His "new daddy." His "new mommy" wasn't that far behind.

'_Let it end.'_

~_~_~_~_~_

"Hurry up, y'all!" Evelyn called out to her children. Everyone was preparing to go out roller skating with some friends from church. The heavy set woman was wearing a brand new dress and sandals with her hair done up nicely; it was obvious that she had no intention of engaging in any potential exercise. On the other hand, all of her children were running around trying to get something casual to wear. A shoe couldn't be found and a hair tie was missing.

"Mom! I can't find my new hair tie!"

"Hon, you don't need to wear the new one! Come on kids, we need to get out of here!"

"Aw, don't worry, Evelyn," the father of the house chided with a smile.

"Are you sure you don't mind staying with Nate?" she asked uncomfortably. "We can make him sit in the car."

"It's fine, darlin'. Besides, I'm sure that he'd rather watch that NOVA **(1) **stuff than just sit in the car."

"If you say so," the uneasy woman replied with a faltering smile. Her husband wrapped his burly arms around her and pressed sweet kisses to her lips.

Soon enough, the three older children were rushing their mother out the door, barely pausing to wave good-bye to their father. Before the engine of their old truck even roared to life, Gerald's calloused hands were already stroking his adoptive son's delicate arm. Those sweat-stained lips kissed his pale neck and those thick fingers began working the child's pants off. "Mmm, I can't wait to fuck you," the older man purred. "Let's take it to the kitchen today, ok?"

Nate only sighed and allowed the man to do as he pleased. After all these years, the young boy saw no point in fighting. He had told his brothers about the sexual abuse and they had only shrugged and told him it would only last two years at the maximum. Liars. He had told his sister and she had wrinkled her nose before warning him not to say a word about it to anyone or she would take him out to the mountains and leave him to deal with the bears. Cruel. He had even tried to tell his mother, but she refused to listen and instead accused him of being an evil, lusty boy; she even went so far as to punish him _every_ time Gerald was away. It didn't even matter that she had walked in on them once; no, she had blinded herself and had taken her anger out on Nate.

In this small corner of the world, Nate was alone, unloved, and abused. He couldn't help but wonder what he did to deserve such a life. Maybe they were all right and he was an evil, lusty boy. How could he fix that? Sometimes he even wondered if there was any hope for him. Maybe there wasn't a way to fix him.

The large man had taken the naked boy into the cool kitchen, shuddering in anticipation of the weary body that would always please him so much. He wasn't worried about being caught and sent to jail or anything. His wife loved him too much, and besides, she had no family that would take her in. Gerald was her everything. Not to say that Gerald didn't love her, he truly did. However, she had been unable to sate his sexual appetite for a long time now, and just as he was worried about never being able to get hard again, this little angel showed up. Snow white hair, soft round skin. At first glance he knew that he had found the solution to his problems. Even better was the fact that Nate was an orphan with no one who cared about him. No one in this part of the country would care for him and he would grow solely dependent on his family. It was all so perfect. The little doll was all his to monopolize, and even if Nate squealed to other people about what was going on, no one would believe him. After all, Gerald had been here all his life, and he was an absolute saint in their eyes.

"Sweet doll," he cooed as he stretched the boy's swollen entrance. "Tell Daddy how much you love him."

Dead eyes stared at the wallpaper without even blinking. "Take me hard, Daddy," he whispered. "So hard that I'll never think of anyone else."

Fragile bones grinded against the cold hard tile as the large man thrusted into the small boy. By now the bruises were close to permanent and Nate's cries of "pleasure" were tearing past his raw throat automatically. There was no thought involved, only the robotic performance. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nate couldn't help but wish that it would end quickly so that he could return to the comfort of his toys. They had never done anything to hurt him. Each lifeless toy would listen to his complaints without judging or punishing him. They never lifted a hand against him and they never uttered those hateful words. "You're the Devil!"

Hot liquid spurted inside his body making him shudder in disgust and pain. When Gerald pulled out, the semen oozed out with some fresh blood and Nate couldn't help but cough harshly after all that screaming. Before he had the chance to crawl away in pain and humiliation, the panting farmer grabbed his sore thighs and flipped him over onto his stomach.

"W-wait, no!" Nate begged. It always hurt so much and he was sure that he would literally break if he was forced through another round. "Please, I c-can't, I-"

"You're just too fuckable," Gerald groaned as he pulled the sickly boy to his knees.

His insatiable cock was pressed against the swollen and abused entrance before he shoved back in without a second thought. Tears stung at the child's blood-shot eyes and he struggled to even breathe under the constant strain on his tiny body. Each frantic heartbeat seemed to rattle his ribcage and each painful gasp for air took more and more effort.

As he was shoved into the cupboard door, a frightening thought occurred to Nate. It was almost certain that he was going to die in a few minutes. His miserable little life was going to end in an equally miserable way. He was going to be raped to death and no one in the entire planet would give a damn. Clawing at the wooden door he was pressed against, Nate came to realize something. A choice had to be made; he could either remain still and let death take him, or he could fight it. Another coughing fit racked his body and saliva trailed past his quivering lips and down his chin.

'_I'm much too tired,'_ Nate thought. _'There's no point in trying to stay alive. It'll just hurt more. I want to die.'_

At that moment, something within his weak body finally gave way under the pressure. A loud crack sounded out in the tiny kitchen before a surge of searing pain shot through the lower part of his body. There was no feeling but pain from his stomach down. Screaming in utter agony, an unfamiliar feeling flooded through Nate's veins. For the first time in his life, his base survival instincts kicked in.

Through watery eyes he spotted the plug end of a cord on the edge of the counter above him. In a swift motion, Nate snatched the dangling cord of the toaster and yanked it down with all his strength. The heavy metal appliance easily slid off the counter and crashed into the man's head. Falling back in a daze, Gerald tore out of the boy and warm sticky blood began to pour down those milky legs. However, the new injury didn't faze the nine year old. His pain threshold had already been crossed and adding to that the rush of adrenaline and endorphin, the unfortunate child was too far gone to make rational decisions.

Sweeping up the nearly broken appliance, Nate looked down into the confused face of his rapist for a moment before swinging it down. A sickening crunch echoed throughout the kitchen as the bones of the man's face collapsed. Screaming in pain and fury, Nate lifted up the heavy toaster up once more and swung it down. Blood was everywhere: blooming over the smooth tiles, painting the broken doll.

The screams became louder, tearing through the abused throat. Each hoarse scream echoed with the tortured boy's pounding heart it wasn't enough it wasn't! Dropping the bloody toaster, Nate scooted across the slick tile and jerked out the drawer full of knives. All of the sharp instruments crashed to the floor, their sharp ends glittering dangerously. Tiny fingers wrapped around the wooden handle of one of the knives and Nate forced himself back to the twitching and gurgling man.

Tears streamed down his swollen face as his grey eyes stared at the now flaccid member. Hatred swelled inside of him, nearly suffocating, and it pushed him forward. Sobbing, he swung the knife point down, stabbing that evil thing.

"No more!" he screamed, stabbing the flesh mercilessly. "No m-more!"

Even more blood sprayed over him and his own blood puddle with Gerald's. One of the stabs slipped and cut into the man's hairy thigh. Suddenly, blood shot out of the wound and spilled out onto the floor rapidly **(2)**. The sight of all that blood shocked Nate into realizing what was going on. All that anger and adrenaline drained away, leaving the child feeling nothing but sickness and horror.

Gagging, he dropped the knife and pressed his trembling hands against the bleeding wound. It seemed to pulse against his bloody fingers, fighting to slip through his fingers. His own blood loss made him dizzy and tired, but he forced that wound close. Why? Why was he helping this man?

The sound of the front door clicking open sent terror through his entire body. "Daaaad," Kent wined, "Jane got sick!"

"We're home," Evelyn called out. "Gerald? Where are you?"

"Wait," Dan ordered. "Is tha' cryin'?"

Not knowing what to do, Nate only sobbed harder and continued to press on the wound. Footsteps rushed to the kitchen before they all stopped and a scream rang out through the house.

Everything seemed to pass by in a blur. He was torn away from the man by Dan, and Evelyn was screaming orders. Call 911, stop the bleeding, and wash the precious blood off the devil child. A choked cry spilled out from Nate as Dan hauled him towards the bathroom. All that pain hit the child full force, but there was no way that he could physically cry harder. Everything just hurt too much and his brain finally decided to shut down his consciousness.

~_~_~_~_~_

Things faded in and out for a while. Nate recognized the clean pastel blue bathroom and after a while he was able to determine that warm water was running over his body. Strong hands held his body up in a sitting position as the shower hose sprayed down his body. All evidence of the rape was swirling down the drain along with the water. After a while, the hand eased him against the tub and a wash cloth ran over his tender flesh.

At this point, Nate was in no condition to do anything bus subject himself to that warm water and his brother's hands. Surprisingly, those hands were gentle as they washed his body and Dan didn't seem particularly upset about what had transpired. In fact, he was smiling. It was unusual, but then again, it was too tiring to think much on it.

"Thank ya, Nate," Dan whispered before planting a kiss on top of the wet head. "Sorry it's gonna end all crummy."

If his face wasn't so swollen and hurt so much, Nate would have cried even more. This whole family confused him so much. Why would Dan thank him for doing something so horrible before making it clear that he wasn't going to help this situation at all? It didn't make sense. Renewed pain wracked his body making it impossible to set all his conflicting thoughts in order.

Evelyn walked into the bathroom calmly. "Fill up the tub, Danny. It'll help wash him all the way."

Now Nate was terrified. What was wrong with everyone?! Why were they all so calm? The faint sounds of sirens could be heard, but the strange look in his adoptive mother's calm eyes demanded his full attention. She stared right into his slate grey eyes as she walked forward. Dan looked at her curiously, but did nothing. Once she reached the tub, she gently wrapped her fingers around the boy's delicate neck.

No one breathed.

Suddenly, water drowned all Nate's senses. His head hit the ceramic bottom and the sharp fingers dug into his flesh, forcing the air out of his tired lungs. The images above him were all warped as the water sloshed around; refracting, magnifying, distorting. That burning feeling clamped down on his now empty lungs and his own pathetic fingers tried to pry off the furious woman's hands.

Nate would have laughed if he could have. The entire situation was ironic and ludicrous. Didn't he fight off Gerald thanks to the damned self-preservation that was inherent in his body? What had he gotten for surviving? Unbearable pain and agony coupled with more suffering. Why couldn't his body just give up? The afterlife, if there was any, couldn't be as bad as his life had been. Hell would be a welcomed change. Water flooded into his lungs and another firm squeeze finally brought the sweet unconsciousness for the final time.

~_~_~_~_~_

Light, blinding light. At first, everything seemed kind of hazy, but slowly everything cleared. He was in a hospital room and there was a man sitting on the only chair in the room. Looking down Nate could see the bandages and the IV in his arm. As he tried to sit up, pain shot through his body.

"Don't try to move," the man suggested as he stood up and approached the bed. "You have a hip fracture and it hasn't been fixed yet. Your surgery will be tomorrow."

"S-surgery?" Nate shuddered at the sound of his voice. It was hollow and hoarse.

"Nate Childress, I need to read your rights. You have the right to remain silent…"

The boy just stared at the man in confusion. What was he talking about? You only read the Miranda rights to criminals, so why?

"What are you…why?" No sooner had the words left his mouth than a terrible sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

The man sighed. "My name is Vaughn Peterson and I'm a cop. You've been charged with the attempted murder of a Mr. Gerald Childress. Since you can't afford an attorney, the state will provide you with one."

"Attempted…murder?" Horrific images flashed through his mind, but Nate carefully kept his face void of any expressions.

"Do you remember what happened last night at approximately 7:30 PM?"

_/…/…/_

"_Take me hard Daddy."_

_Blood, agony, hatred._

_/…/…/_

"N-no. I…I don't know!" Tears welled in his eyes, but inside a completely different emotion was bubbling up. It was not fear, but hatred. For crying out loud, he had been raped by that sick man and they were charging _him_ with attempted murder?! What kind of nonsense was that! It had all been in self-defense!

"Nate, how old are you?" the man asked carefully as he pulled out a notepad.

It took the sickly child half a second to evaluate the situation and produce the best possible response. "F-four? W-where's my mommy?"

Mr. Peterson wrote down some stuff before looking up again. "Your mother can't come here right now," he replied in a soothing voice. "I need to ask you a few more questions. Is that ok?"

"Ok, Mister," he sniffled. That idiot was nothing; he didn't know a thing about Nate and the boy used that to his advantage. It was the same trick that had failed with his real mother. "Can I (sniff) have Mr. Bunny?"

"Um, I don't have him right now."

Large crocodile tears rolled down, leaving angry red streaks as the tears reacted to the sensitive skin. "M-mr. Bunny is g-gone?"

Panic flashed across the police officer's face. "Don't worry! No, uh, don't cry. Hey, I'll get you another toy, ok? D-do you want another bunny?"

A pathetic wail was the response and the man turned on his heel and ran out of the room quickly. "I'll be back!" he called out before completely disappearing. Nate was tempted to drop the charade immediately, but he was afraid that the guy would come back any minute. After several minutes, he quieted down and stared at the door angrily. Idiots, he was surrounded by idiots.

Disgust filled him as he looked at the needle resting in his arm. He couldn't help but wonder once more why he was still alive. What was the point of living if all that life offered you was pain and suffering? Why did he constantly fight to live when there was nothing to live for?

A petite nurse came in and checked on his vitals. She had fake blond hair (her roots were showing) and poor make-up. Everything about her screamed that she tried to hard, even Nate could see that. Still, she smiled brightly at him and treated him kindly, far more kindly than anyone else had. As soon as she was finished checking up on him, the police officer came running in with a stuffed lamb in his arms.

"There (pant) wasn't any…any bunnies," he gasped, leaning over to catch his breath.

Back to acting. Nate reached out his hands to take the new stuffed animal. "Thank you," he mumbled as he snuggled with the doll.

"Is that…that fine?"

"Mmm, hmmm."

A couple of minutes later, Mr. Peterson caught his breath and he proceeded with some more questions. Nate knew that he had to lie and keep up the act of having regressed to his four-year-old self. If he did that, there was no way that they could send him to juvenile. The worst they could do was send him to another orphanage and force him to attend sessions with a psychiatrist. All of that was better than the hell he's been living with all these years.

~_~_~_~_~_

The next few days were all a haze to the nine year old. He had a painful surgery, was approached by numerous people, had to appear in a small courthouse, and was eventually driven out hours away to a mental institution.

"This is ridiculous," Mr. Peterson hissed as he pulled up to the asylum. Nate just barely managed to keep his heavy eyes open. That pain medication was some pretty potent stuff. "Look, I'm really sorry about this kid. Social Services will come here to pick you up whenever they get around to it, but for now you've got to stay here."

"Where's 'here'?" the white-haired boy croaked.

Peterson sighed. "This is a…mental institution. It's a place where doctors help people with brain problems. Supposedly, these are the only doctors close enough that will be able to take care of your problems until the Social Services pick you up."

"Where will they take me, Mister?"

"A nice orphanage. It'll be far away from here."

Nate supposed that he should have been happy, but he couldn't muster the energy. It wasn't worth the effort. The police officer stepped out of the car and came around to open the door for Nate. A few nurses came out to meet them and the ladies showed the guys inside. The smell of bleach hit Nate's nose making him feel sick. There was always that damnable bleach, always burning his nose.

"Thank you for bringing him here, Mr. Peterson," a short lady said. "We'll take good care of him."

"I hope so," Peterson replied with a little more harshness than he intended to. "He's just a kid."

All too soon, Vaughn Peterson was gone and Nate was left alone with a new set of strangers. A red-headed woman leaned over to look him in the eye. She stared for a few minutes as if trying to read him, but he stared blankly. There was nothing for her to read. He was just another miserable little boy. "Well, take him to his room, Anne," she ordered after straightening up. "Carry him since he can't walk on that gimp leg."

The young boy didn't really know how he felt about having to live in an asylum for a while, and after a few weeks of life there, Nate still had mixed feelings. The bleached white walls and perfectly kept halls wore him out and all the people seemed to just walk around as if they were somewhere else completely. It was a sad place with very gloomy vibes and it was slowly seeping into his personality. One could almost say that the building and the patients within it were a most wonderful expression of his soul. Cold and dreary. Lifeless.

On the other hand, there were a few things that he found who could entertain him. One old man would sit at the same table everyday with a chess board. He would try to play by himself, muttering nonsense, but every time he would get frustrated and throw the board. Nate watched as some of the nurses tried to play with the man, but he would throw the pieces at them. Eventually, Nate decided that it wouldn't hurt to try playing this game. After all, it looked simple enough. The old man, Harry was his name, watched with a critical eye as the child struggled to pull himself up on the seat. Once he was on the seat, Nate just sat there and stared at the man. Harry would be insulted if he tried to make the first move, so Nate just waited. Three hours later, a small smile tugged at those wrinkled lips and Harry made his move. The first game was an utter loss for Nate, but the second, third, and fourth were his undeniable victories. Such an easy game.

Second, there was a man who would write the same formula over and over on paper and on the chalkboards he was allowed to have. The same letters, numbers, symbols, and parentheses. Nate found that formula intriguing and he studied it daily. It reminded him of a show he watched regarding quantum physics.

Finally, there were all the toys. Because he was the only child in the asylum, all the nurses and doctors would bring him various toys to play with and he didn't have to share them. They were all his to do as he pleased. The feeling of hard plastic or the soft material was such a comfort. Toys were his only true friends, they had always been. Never judging, never hurting. These toys were no exception.

Everything was predictable, in a precise pattern. Wake up, eat breakfast, play four games of chess, eat lunch, study the formula, talk to the psychologist, eat dinner, play with toys, go to bed. Repeat. Repeat. Of course, Nate had to keep up the façade of having regressed, but he didn't worry too much about it. There were plenty of patients that needed more attention than he did, so most of the time no one bothered him.

However, there was someone watching him. The nurse he had met on the first day had been suspicious ever since she laid eyes on the boy. He had an intense air about him, one that could not belong to an average and stupid child. Her brown eyes watched him carefully and what she saw only confirmed her thoughts. As a matter of fact, he had far surpassed anything she thought possible.

At first, she thought that what she was seeing was merely coincidental or luck, but the more she watched, the more amazed she got. It only took the boy one short game of chess before he had grasped the rules and the strategies with an understanding that professional players dreamed to have. He could soundly beat Harry every time now. Nate also seemed intrigued by the formula Eric Stephenson would compulsively write. He would sit awkwardly for hours, curling some of his hair around his finger as he stared at that mathematical enigma. After the third day of doing that, she saw a light go off in his eyes, but he didn't do anything until about four weeks later. Having got bored with Eric not being able to solve his own problem, Nate struggled to his feet. Grabbing a piece of chalk, the boy stood shakily on his tip toes and proceeded to write the solution on the board.

Then looking around guiltily, he slid back down to the ground to innocently play with his stuffed lamb while Eric stared dumbfounded at the solution. A few minutes later, the man began to scream incomprehensible things and some nurses rushed to calm him down. Instead of being terrified of the man's behavior, Nate continued to play calmly. A mischievous smile even graced his lips for a few seconds before he pulled up his blank mask.

"He knew what was going to happen," she mumbled to herself as she watched the scene unfold. "How did he do that? _Why _did he do that?" Her curiosity forced her to investigate. Perhaps he himself had a mental disorder and he was able to empathize with the patients. An event two days later made her even more desperate to get to the bottom of the child's strange condition. After two days of Eric bemoaning the fact that his formula had been solved, Nate broke his pattern. He arrived at the chalk board early in the morning, before Eric arrived, and carefully wrote out a brand new formula. It was different, but similar. After that, Nate reverted back to his pattern and the nurse couldn't help but smile. Eric was ecstatic to find the new formula, and this time he refused to let Nate see it which only added more humor to the situation.

Days of research all brought her to one place. Wammy's House, an orphanage for especially gifted children. It was founded by a Quillsh Wammy, an inventor and a super genius. Surely he would be able to help her uncover the secrets this boy held. Her hand shook as the dial tone droned. Would he even be willing to help her? After all, surely he didn't have time to deal with a nurse in some backwater asylum that happened to be babysitting a child while the government took their sweet time.

"_Hello? This is Wammy's House, and I'm the current caretaker Roger Ruvie. How may I help you?"_

"Um, hello, this is Jessica Lynn. I work at Falstrom Mental Institution in the United States. I understand that Mr. Wammy has experience with gifted children?"

"_Why yes, he has an orphanage specifically for raising geniuses."_

"Would I be able to ask him some questions?"

"_Ah, I apologize, madam, but he is out of the country at the moment. However, I might be able to answer your questions."_

Taking a deep breath, Jessica figured that it wouldn't hurt. "I'm calling about this boy I know. His name is Nate River…"

* * *

**Author's Notes: (1) NOVA has TV. shows that show scientific stuff. Things like string theory, dark matter, super volcanoes, etc. are common. (2) Nate hit the femoral artery; with an injury like that, it is literally possible for a person to bleed to death in a minute or two.**

**Did you know that Tabori style tattoos are how the Yakuza would get their "armor" done? This makes another wonderful twist to the reasoning for L getting that type of tattoo. "Armor" is what full body tattoos are called; the only parts of the body not tattooed are the head, hands, and feet (I'm pretty sure). Now, L isn't getting armor, but he's getting a highly detailed, thus painful, tattoo of the Grim Reaper on his back. It's kind of fun to think that B had compared him to a murderer, a criminal, and now, he's getting the sign of a murderer inked on his back as well as in the very style as some of the most fearsome criminals. Cool, eh?**

**Hehehehe, and I loved how Matt looked down on the kids as they argued about picking new teams. He never really realizes that they're all older than him and he should respect them. Nope, that never crosses his inherently American and rebellious mind. **

**Finally, don't be confused with the fact that Nate's name changed throughout this chapter. He was adopted, so he took his new family's name: Childress. However, after they charged him with attempted murder, they disowned him so he took his real name back. Nate River. Please review!  
**


	14. Normal

**Here's another chapter! It's more of a filler, so there won't be too much action. However, this chapter will explain a few things, and will hopefully shed some light on a few important issues of the Wammy Boys' characteristics. I would have updated sooner, but a _Jurassic Park_ marathon was too tempting. XD**

**

* * *

**"So he's been declared incompetent by the courts?" Quillsh asked as he looked over the file in front of him.

"_Yes. They say that he's regressed to his four-year-old self, but the nurse caring for him doesn't believe that. She believes that he is either a savant or an undiscovered genius."_

Looking over the images of the child's former adoptive father, Quillsh couldn't help but wince. "And Mr. Childress survived?"

"_It's hard to believe, isn't it?"_

"Hmm, I wonder what made that child go crazy on his father. After all, injuries like this are caused by prolonged experience to high stress situations. The mutilated genitals make me think that the father was sexually exploiting the child, but there is no mention of that in the hospital reports or the police reports. The only injury he has is a broken hip."

"_Well, there were other bruises and such, but the child is prone to bruising because of his delicate body, so they omitted those. Even patting his shoulder could leave a nasty mark."_

"Well, I'm not sure we should look into this, Roger. What do you think?"

The static from the phone hissed for a moment before the younger of the two men spoke. _"Since you're too busy right now, why don't we wait a little longer?"_

"That's-" Mr. Wammy paused as L snatched the papers and pictures out of his hand. He watched curiously as the young boy (no, it was man now) flipped through the papers; his head was tilted at an awkward angle and the pictures and papers were help precariously by those nimble fingertips. Once those dark eyes scrolled over a page, or picture, and absorbed the necessary information, it was carelessly tossed to the floor. "Hold on, Roger. L looks interested."

"_Oh _great_," _Roger sighed in annoyance.

Once the papers had been looked through, L quickly sifted through the rest of the files. After _those_ papers were scattered across the floor, L turned to the curious old man. "I want to see a recording of him."

This intrigued Quillsh even more. What was going on in that boy's head? "Roger, I'll call you back in a little bit." Hanging up the phone, Quillsh searched through the box he received from Wammy's House. "Ah, here's a tape of a session he had with a psychologist at the mental institution."

Slinking towards the television, L hopped onto his chair and pulled his knees close to his chest. The recording was simple enough. Nate played with his stuffed animal for the most part and he could only answer simple questions. However, Quillsh could understand why Ms. Lynn would call Wammy's House. There was an indescribable feeling he got as he watched Nate; it was as if there was something hiding behind that innocent face. An amused grin spread across L's lips.

"He can't really keep his thoughts from showing on his face, can he?"

"Huh?" Quillsh was taken aback by that comment and focused on studying the child's face. L just stared at him oddly before he turned back to the video.

Although the elderly man focused on the child's face, he could only spot some facial gestures that seemed unreadable. Once the tape ended, L hopped off the chair and approached the table covered with his sweets and bowls of strawberries and cherries (the only source of nutrition in his diet besides the milk he poured into his tea). Before sharing a large slice of cake into his mouth, L made another surprising statement. "His new name is Near. Bring him to Wammy's House as soon as possible."

"May I inquire as to why?" Quillsh asked as he witnessed the quick death of the chocolate cake slice.

Frosting smeared across the pale young man's lips, nose, and cheeks and his cheeks puffed out like a blowfish. Gulping loudly, L then smiled widely. "Take him in, Watari, you won't be sorry."

"…of course, L. If you say so."

~_~_~_~_~_

Excitement seemed to infect everyone at Wammy's House. News of a new kid coming spread like wild fire and that seemed to be the only topic of conversation. The only one not leaping for joy was Roger, who was too old to do such a thing anyway.

"Aren't you excited?" Mello squealed happily as he and Matt walked to their room. Since they were practically attached to the hip, Roger moved them in together and prepared Matt's old room for the new kid.

"Eh, not really," the younger boy replied.

The two boys were walking down the hall hand-in-hand and Matt couldn't help but feel a little weird. No one else in the orphanage would hold hands except for them and they always had strange looks directed at them. Although Matt was uncomfortable, Mello seemed oblivious. He was the one who always initiated their hand holding and it always seemed to make him happy.

"I wonder what he'll be like," Mello ranted, squeezing his best friend's hand. "Do you think that he'll like football? Oh! Maybe he'll like video games, just like you! Wouldn't that be great?" To be honest, Matt was hoping that that wouldn't be the case. He didn't want new friends, need new friends. All he wanted was Mello. Was that wrong? Was that weird? "Even so, it would be fun to make a new friend, right Mattie?"

"If you say so," Matt grumbled as they finally reached their room.

"Melllooooo, I've got news!"

Catching the scent of gossip, Mello jerked Matt to a halt and dragged him away from the sanctuary of their room. "Tell me, Linda, tell me!" Matt just rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall.

"The new kid's gonna show up tomorrow! And they say that he's ten years old!"

"Wow, he's just about our age, Mattie!" Mello squealed excitedly.

Linda giggled at the blond's reaction and tugged on her pigtails. "You guys look like a couple," she giggled shyly as a blush darkened her cheeks. Matt blushed in embarrassment and jerked his hand away from Mello's while the Slovenian looked confused.

"Huh? What does that-"

"We are _not_ a couple, Linda!" Matt interrupted, his face now the color of a cherry. "Stupid girl, how could you think that?!"

"Mattie," Mello whined, trying to get his friend's attention, "I don't understand!"

"Don't call me stupid, you big dummy! It was a compliment!"

"Matt-"

"How the hell is that a compliment?!"

Pink tinted Mello's features, and it wasn't from embarrassment. "Stupid jackass!" he screeched at his inconsiderate friend before stomping into their room and slamming the door shut. The sound of the lock clicking followed right after. "You can just stay out there tonight!"

"Great job, Linda," Matt hissed. "Look what you did."

"I didn't do anything," she huffed as she crossed her arms. "You made him angry all on your own." With that, she stomped off and left Matt to deal with his own friend.

"C'mon, Melly," Matt begged as he leaned against the door. His Gameboy was dead and all the spare batteries were in the room.

"Bugger off!" Mello yelled as he snuggled with his favorite pillow. "You ignored me."

"I was defending you! Linda was making fun of us!"

Hopping off the bed, the blond boy padded to the door with the pillow clenched tightly in his arms. "What's a 'couple', Mattie?"

Just hearing that word made the younger boy blush. "I-it's kind of hard to explain."

"Try me," Mello demanded sternly.

Matt covered his face with his hands, the blush burning even brighter. "It means we're dating."

"What's dating?"

"Dear lord almighty, are you _kidding_?!"

Now it was Mello's turn to be embarrassed. Why was it that Matt always seemed to know so much more? And if he was acting like that, it meant that this "dating" thing was common knowledge. "Uh, I know what dating is, I was just testing you!" he said to cover up his lack of knowledge.

Matt knew better than to fall for that, but he didn't want to antagonize his friend any longer. He _really_ needed those batteries. "Ok, I know you know, Melly. Can I come in now?"

Mello bit his lip and clenched the pillow tighter. "Sure, I guess you can." With that, Mello unlocked the door and stepped aside.

The brunette stepped into the room cautiously, hoping that Mello wasn't in the mood to punch him in the face. When a fist didn't coming flying at him, he took a deep breath and stepped closer to the blond. Without even talking, Matt could tell what his best friend was thinking and feeling. He was really upset. Smiling crookedly, Matt pulled the older boy into a hug and stroked his back.

"We're just getting older, Melly, and we can't do things like we used to. It's just how things are."

"But that's not fair," Mello pouted, enjoying the way warmth spread throughout him. "Why? Why can't we just stay the same?"

"It's just a…well, it's a society thing. You know how society sucks."

"Then let's rebel, ok?" Those beautiful eyes were so hard to resist.

"How about this? We can hold hands all we want inside our room, but outside we can't. That way no one will make fun of us."

"I'll just kick their ass if they make fun of us," Mello snorted decidedly.

"Uh, that's not a good idea," Matt chuckled. "Besides, wouldn't you like it more private?"

Mello tilted his head. He had never noticed any differences between holding hands in private and in public. The physical contact was comforting, and that's why he did it. However, he could tell that Matt had been getting more and more uncomfortable with the public displays of affection. It wouldn't kill to give in to his best friend's needs every once in a while.

"Well, if you want to, Matt," he mumbled.

That lovely grin spread across Matt's face, and Mello couldn't help but feel better. That smile, along with kisses, was a magic cure all. Smiling widely himself, Mello snuggled closer to Matt and intertwined their fingers. The brunette grinned stupidly; if you knew the right buttons to push, Mello was a pretty easy guy to keep happy. Just hold him and pay attention to him and he would be the happiest chap on the darn planet.

After a few minutes, Matt's ADHD kicked in and he began to shift around. Taking his cue, Mello released his friend and walked over to his bed. Matt jumped on his own bed and found the spare batteries he always kept under his pillow. A few seconds later and the Gameboy beeped to life gaining a little victory cry from the boy.

"Sweet, it's working!"

"Hey, Mattie. What do you think the new kid will be like?"

Looking down at his beautiful game, Matt shrugged. "Like everyone else, I guess."

"I hope he'll be nice," Mello mumbled before throwing himself onto his bed.

"Eh, I'm sure he'll be nice enough."

~_~_~_~_~_

Wammy's House. Such a fancy name for nothing more than an orphanage. Sure, there were supposedly intelligent children here, but that didn't make a difference. An orphanage was just an orphanage.

Nate River gazed miserably at the wet country side whizzing past him. How ironic. Some people came to take him to an orphanage all right, but they weren't Social Services; they weren't even Americans. Pain flared up in his hip again and all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and smother his stuffed animal. Because of the delicate balance of all his medications, it was impossible for him to take stronger pain killers.

Constant pain, another beautiful gift for staying alive.

Large, beautiful gates creaked open to let the sleek black vehicle into the grounds and the grey eyes peeked open to take in his surroundings. No wheat fields or mountains; al least England didn't remind him of either of his "homes". There was a large group of children playing soccer and a little ways further was a pack of girls yapping away. To Nate, these children didn't seem any different from normal kids. If one were to put any of them beside a decidedly average child, no one could see a difference. Looking down at his small hands, Nate found a new thing to hate. _He _would never be seen as normal.

As the car pulled up to the entrance, dozens of eyes turned in excitement. The soccer game had ceased and everyone came closer to get a look at the new kid. All that attention was making the young boy feel sick; nothing good ever came out of drawing attention. The driver parked the car and looked back at the shivering child.

"There's nothing to be scared about here, kid. The other children are harmless, so you can relax and just be yourself."

Nate's only response was to squeeze his white lamb tighter. _'Be myself? What kind of nonsense is this guy talking about?'_

How was a child who had been suppressed and force-fed lies supposed to know who he was? He had spent almost seven of this ten years being someone else, anyone else. Now? This was just another role to play.

Sighing softly, the driver stepped out and opened Nate's door. He fiddled with the boy's buckle for a moment before successfully pulling him out of the car. The children's chattering grew louder, but Nate couldn't focus on it if he wanted to. Pain was shooting through his leg and pelvis, and it took all of his energy not to scream or cry. Never had a set of stairs looked so long.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Melly, my butt hurts," Matt whined as he adjusted himself on the floor. Looking up from his game, he could see that Mello was comfortably swinging his legs over the edge of the balcony that stretched out over the main foyer. Dark wooden balusters were held gently by those soft hands and Mello's pink lips whispered the strange words of the song that he was singing to himself. Frowning, Matt poked his friend's soft thigh. "Do we really have to stay here?"

Mello rolled his eyes in annoyance and swatted away the harassing finger. "Of course we have to stay here, Mattie. Where else can we get the best view of this new kid?"

Matt just shrugged. "What's the big deal, anyway? He's going to be human too, you know."

"I know that, dummy. I just wanna see him. If it bothers you so much, you can leave."

Now it was Matt's turn to eyeroll. Darn Mello and his stubbornness. "No, I'll stay-"

The brunette's sentence was cut off as the front door creaked open and a flood of chatter echoed in the grand foyer. Two pairs of eyes widened as the young chauffer walked in carrying a small, delicate looking boy. A fluffy lamb peeked out from the alabaster arms and a mop of curly white hair rested on top of the boy's head. Grey eyes gave the impression that the strange boy was bored, but the two friends could sense something different about him. He wasn't like all the other kids here.

~_~_~_~_~_

Turquoise eyes. Such an unusual and vivid color. It was like looking into the Caribbean Sea; ah, he could drown happily in those eyes. Golden hair framed the flawless face and those eyes continued to bore into him, into the closest thing he had to a soul. Oh my, Nate River was anything but bored. All thoughts of pain had vanished and there was only that girl.

* * *

**Author's Notes: And yay for a kind of cliffhanger! Yes, unfortunate Near thought that Mello was a girl. Don't worry, he'll learn soon enough. XD Hope you enjoyed this little chapter. Next chapter will be a lot more interaction between the Wammy Boys. :) You just gotta love L. (random side-note)**

**EDIT: Thanks to Kat, I've added that squiggly line thing before the last paragraph. Sorry if there was any confusion before! And special thanks to Kat for pointing it out. XD  
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	15. Other Half

**This chapter is dedicated to slain angel and Artificial Starlight. XD They were just being exceptionally awesome. **

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* * *

**Steam fogged up the bathroom mirror and making the room nearly unbearable. Quillsh pushed the window open, sighing happily as some cool air rushed into the small bathroom. Water and bubbles sloshed around as L adjusted himself in the bathtub.

"Must you always take a bath with such hot water?" the older man complained. "It dries out your skin."

"Watari, I've been bathing this way for almost a decade and a half. By now, I think that I know what it does to my skin." L reached over the lip of the tub and grabbed a piece of chocolate and cheesecake brownie.

Shaking his head, Quillsh rolled up his sleeves and sat on the stool beside the ceramic tub. Lathering up a washcloth, he proceeded to clean the young man. Inked skin rippled with each movement, giving the intricate tattoo the illusion of movement. To be honest, Quillsh had to admit that the tattoo on his charge's back was an absolute work of art; he had never seen anything so frighteningly beautiful before and he never got tired of looking at it. The skeletal hand clenched the scythe gently and the dark robes fluttered about. If one looked close enough, it almost looked like the Grim Reaper's face would just appear. However, it never did. Thankfully.

Lips curling in amusement, Mr. Wammy watched as the twenty-something-year-old played with the bubble gum scented bubbles before he reached out and took a handful of strawberries. Those juicy fruits were shoved whole into his constantly working mouth and after a few minutes the raven-haired boy leaned over the tub and spat out the green tops.

"Has Near arrived at Wammy's House yet?" L asked before leaning over again to grab some more candy. It was always such a hassle to wash him.

"Near arrived yesterday afternoon. He still can't walk and he was having some issues with the food that was being served. Also, the nurses are trying to work out his schedule of pills since he's taking so many."

"It can't be that difficult," L snorted. "Besides, they better not be complaining; that's why they were hired."

"You can't be so harsh, L," Wammy chided. "You must always remember that people are not as smart as you. They don't find things easy."

"I am constantly reminded," L grumbled as he licked a peppermint stick. "I have to work with the said people every day. Idiots."

Mr. Wammy just shook his head. It was always excruciatingly frustrating for people of their intelligence to deal with average people, so he couldn't be too harsh on the boy. Lawliet was still young and a lot less patient. "Changing topics, why did you decide to name Nate River, 'Near'? Is there a special meaning to that name?"

"Of course," L answered easily. "However," he grinned as he looked over his shoulder, "you're smart enough. You can figure it out on your own."

That drew out a chuckle from the old man. Those were the exact words he had thrown out so often at L as a child. How ironic that they were now being used against him. Grabbing the small bucket he kept near the tub, he filled it with water and dumped it on the insolent child.

~_~_~_~_~_

Matt was very unhappy.

Throwing his shoes at the wall in frustration, he sat back against his pillows. Mello had been completely enraptured by the new kid from the moment he saw him. Although he wasn't allowed to visit the new boy, Mello had taken to sitting in front of the room so that he could be the first one to say hello when they were finally allowed to see him. It was stupid, so stupid. What was the big deal with this new kid? He looked like a freak, and he was really weak. For crying out loud, he couldn't even walk to his room! On top of that he was being sterilized or something in that room and that's why none of the other kids could come see him. Who cared? Nope, not Matt. No, he just cared that Mello was wasting hours of his life sitting in front of that door when he could be playing with his _best_ friend.

"Well, fuck him then," Matt stated firmly. "I'll have fun without him."

Easier said than done. At first, Matt tried to play on his Gameboy. That idea was scrapped soon after when he couldn't even decide which game to play. Was it always this hard to choose? Then he decided to go around and wreak some havoc. That too was thrown out the window after he wandered through the halls aimlessly for a few hours. He just couldn't muster the energy to cause trouble without his buddy beside him. Lame. What good was a hyper active brain if he couldn't use it without his partner in crime? It was at times like this that Matt could feel that haunting craving. That wonderful drug running through his veins would _always_ calm him down. When he was high he didn't need to think about anything or anyone. He could just…chill. Matt's stomach churned and he could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Hey! Where's your other half, _Mattie_?"

Ugh, great; just what he needed. Looking up through his swimming goggles, Matt could see Amos. "Piss off, Amos."

"Whoah, look who's pms-ing. You're looking a little lost without Mello; don't tell me he got bored of you already?"

Now, Matt was not a person who was prone to anger (like Mello was), but at this moment it didn't take him long to get utterly pissed. For crying out loud, he was in distress! "Mello is not bored of me you undersized Neanderthal. Now get lost or I won't be responsible for what happens next."

The other boy couldn't help but laugh. Matt was not known for his fighting skills in reality (as his gaming skills were already legendary), but it was odd that he would threaten to fight without his wingman. "What, are you gonna tell on me to Mello?"

The younger brunette clenched his fists tightly. Damn it, if he wasn't so darn weak, Amos wouldn't be making fun of him now. But in all honesty, who was he kidding? He didn't have an ounce of muscles and Amos was not only taller but a lot more fit thanks to all the football he played. He would have no difficulty kicking the gamer's scrawny ass.

"I don't need him to kick your butt," Matt bluffed.

Amos shoved the shorter boy hard, making him fall flat on his rear end rather painfully. "You're such a waste of time, Matt; I don't know why Mello puts up with you."

Snorting in amusement, Amos turned around and walked off. He wasn't afraid that Matt would come after him, and he was right. Matt just sat on the floor seething. This day was turning out to be a giant pain in his ass. Not being able to think of anything else, the young brunette stomped off to the library where there was a computer that everyone could use. Thankfully, there was only one person in the library and she was sitting at one of the desks. As soon as he sat at the computer, Matt realized that the girl was crying.

Rolling his eyes, he just tried to mind his own business. However, the harder he tried to ignore her, the more unbearable her crying became. He couldn't even surf the web properly with all that noise she was making. Finally, he broke down; spinning in his chair he glared at her. "Hey, what's your problem? This is a library and you're supposed to be quiet."

Bloodshot hazel eyes glanced up and the girl tried to stifle her sniffles a little better. "S-sorry," she sobbed as she clenched a letter to her chest.

Now Matt felt a little guilty. Something was obviously upsetting her and she couldn't help that she was crying. "What's wrong?" he asked hoping that he didn't sound harsh at all.

More tears surfaced but the poor girl did her best to keep them down. "M-my brother, -hiccup- was gonna adopt…adopt me."

"Is that so bad?" Matt asked in bewilderment.

She shook her head and squeezed the crinkled paper tighter. "He, he d-died this morning," she wailed, all the tears coming unleashed. "Barry got hit by a car, and he's dead! He p-promised that he w-would always be there!" Sobs shook her thin body and there was no stopping her now. "Now I'm all alone, what do I d-do?!"

Matt just sat there in stunned silence. Wow, he had been an utter jerk. Still, what bothered him the most wasn't that he had been mean. The worst thing was the feeling that was welling inside his chest as he watched the girl crying for her older brother. Did…did Kennedy cry for him? Had she been sobbing for him all these years like this girl was crying? The guilt was suffocating and making his mind go numb.

"I, uh, got to go," Matt mumbled as he stood up.

"No," she cried, "please don't leave me!"

Panic took a hold of him, and the brunette ran out of the library before she could say another word. Tears stung at his own eyes and he could practically hear his sister calling out for him. She had never been able to take care of herself and she had completely depended on him. What kind of worthless brother was he? He had spent years and years trying to forget her while she was probably suffering. What if she wasn't in a happy family like that police officer said she would be in? What if she was being abused or raped?

The next thing he knew, he had barged into Roger's office, shaking uncontrollably. "Where is she?!" he demanded hysterically. "Where's Kennedy, where's my fucking sister?!"

Roger looked shocked, but he recovered quickly. "Matt, we don't discuss past things."

"You have to tell me, she's _my_ sister!"

"Matt, I'm sorry."

"No, I won't take that! She could be hurt and I need to protect her!" The pain was unbearable and he fell to his knees, clutching his hair painfully. He was so stupid, always a failure. "P-please, I need to see her…"

Roger scratched his head and sighed unhappily. "Even if I wanted to help you, we don't know anything about your sister. We just took your information and that's all. I didn't even know you had a sister."

Failure.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Are you still out here?" the lady nanny asked in surprise as she left the new kid's room.

Mello looked up and grinned widely. "Yup. I wanna be the first one to say hi to him."

The lady giggled. "But what's the big deal about that?"

"I don't want the other idiots scaring him," Mello stated flatly. "I want him to know that he's welcomed here."

"Well that's a very nice thing, Mello," she said with a smile. "You know what? I think that he can have a visitor right now if it's you."

"Really?" Mello squealed happily. "Thank you!"

Holding the door open for him, the nanny stepped aside and let Mello in. As soon as he was inside the room, Mello couldn't help but stare in awe. The new boy really was as beautiful as he thought he was. Pure white hair, smooth ivory skin, large grey eyes, and a cute little nose. The said boy was wearing the most perfect pair of pajamas, which were white of course, and he was sitting in bed with the blankets up to his waist.

Nate couldn't believe what he was seeing. That girl had come to see _him_? Wow, she really did have strange eyes. He couldn't quite tell if they were blue or if they were green, but did it really matter? They were…beautiful. Strange, he had never truly considered anything in this world beautiful and here he was thinking something like that so easily about this girl. Tearing his eyes away from her striking eyes, Nate silently observed her from head to toe. She was barefoot and had a pale jean Capri hugging her legs with a grey t-shirt on. Her hair was cut in a perfect bob and it framed her face in a most flattering way.

Wait…what the hell was he thinking? When did he ever think in such expressive terms? Whoever this girl was, she had to be some kind of enchantress. "Hello," he caught himself whispering. Did..did he just say "hello" to some stranger?!

A smile lit up on Mello's face. This boy was just shy! "Hi, my name's Mello! Welcome to Wammy's House!"

Hmm, that voice was a little deeper than Nate expected, but it was still pleasant to listen too. He wanted to hear her speak some more. "My name is…Near." That's right, he was no longer Nate River; in this place, he was just Near.

"Whoah, that's a weird name," Mello exclaimed. "I mean, my name's weird too, but Near makes me wonder what you're so close to."

"I wouldn't know," Nate replied abruptly. "They just gave me that name and didn't bother to tell me what it meant. Not that I care."

"I think they gave me a weird name because I'm the only Slovenian here."

"Hmm."

Now that they were on speaking terms, Mello moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. Near looked quite sickly from so close up, but he didn't mind. After all, Matt was pretty sick for a while after he came to Wammy's House.

"Are you good at art?" he asked, trying to determine if Near would be thrown into the running to become the next L.

"…not particularly." All this talking was making Nate a lot more tired than he expected. Other than being questioned by the police, he couldn't remember talking this much to anyone.

"Well that means that you'll probably be given the L code." Nate tilted his head questioningly. "Oh, you wouldn't know what that is. First of all, you need to know who L is."

With that, Mello began the long and animated explanation of who L was, what the code was for, and why all the orphans were here. Nate just held his stuffed lamb closer as he listened attentively. Neither of the boys even noticed as the sun began to set.

~_~_~_~_~_

Mello stared at his friend in the darkness. Matt had been unusually quiet ever since he came back to the room. It was true that this was the first time Mello hadn't eaten dinner with him (since that twisted ankle incident), but surely he wasn't mad about that. After all, he had been making friends with Near. The brunette's back was facing him and even that annoying Gameboy wasn't on.

"Mattie? Is something wrong?"

Matt didn't trust himself to answer. All the emotions raging through him were just too exhausting, and all he wanted to do was sleep. Just sleep, and everything would be better in the morning. The goggles were digging painfully into the soft tissue around his eyes.

"Um, are you mad at me?" When there wasn't a reply, Mello got very anxious. Was Matt sick again?

Sliding onto Matt's bed, Mello glanced over the still lump that was his friend. Those blue eyes were open yet unfocused. He was zoning off. Still, his friend seemed very upset, so Mello just settled into the bed behind his friend. His thin arms wrapped around Matt's waist and he snuggled his face into the space between the other's shoulder blades.

"Good night, Mattie."

A few tears rolled down Matt's face. Amos was right, he didn't deserve Mello. After all, he had his own baby sister and he abandoned her when he had promised to always take care of her. What was to say that he wouldn't do the same to Mello? His poor Melly was so sensitive and if he ever did leave him, the little blond would surely die. He had been abandoned enough, and he deserved someone who could truly stay forever. Maybe that new kid could do that. Snorting angrily, and yet sadly, Matt wondered how long it would take for the two of them to become best friends.

Regardless, no matter how much he degraded himself or how badly his insecurities bubbled up, Mello's arms never let go. It had been hours since he had fallen asleep and yet he still held on with determination. There was a small round spot of warmth near his neck where Mello's breaths blew slowly, consistently. Squeezing his own hands into fists, Matt wondered why it was so hard to even imagine forgetting Mello. Yes, he was worthless, he was stupid, and he was pathetic; but even so, he _wanted _to stay with his friend. He wanted those soft arms to stay wrapped around him, and he wanted to be able to be special to someone else. His scarred hands rested on top of Mello's soft ones and he sighed in contentment. Right now, Mello was all his. And that would just have to be enough.

~_~_~_~_~_

The sound of water dripping was comforting. By now, he was too far insane to be annoyed by that constant sound. Drip, drip, drippity, drip. Hehehe, it was like a song. La, la, la, la, LA! Pale hands waved slowly through the air, orchestrating the band that wasn't there. It was a symphony, a beautiful work of art. Music, all music to his ears. A rat paused, its beady eyes glittering; however, it shuddered in fear and scampered off. The sound of its paws pattering across the cement only added to his musical piece. Yes, it was improvisation, just like jazz.

Then a sound that could not be considered beautiful interrupted his performance. His stomach was growling. How sad. Dark eyes opened, finally taking a look at his surroundings. The stench no longer bothered him, and the darkness would have frightened full grown men. However, he was neither a full grown man nor frightened. Darkness was not as frightening to him as the light was. Another growl from his stomach reminded him that he was hungry and that he needed to finish his meal before some other critter did. Lifting up the still warm and bloody liver from the ripped open body, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Kya ha ha ha ha!"

* * *

**Author's Notes: Hmmm, so this chapter ended up being another filler of sorts. Not really what I was expecting, but not bad. That last part is going to serve as an introduction to the next chapter where we see what Beyond Birthday's been up to all these years as well as what he's planning. After all, the BB murder cases weren't just something haphazardly thrown together; it took some planning. Now, you should know that I've taken liberties with the time that B's been out of Wammy's House. In the book, _Another Note_, he left in May and was caught in August. As you know, I didn't set it up like that. So, I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter and I also hope that you will be looking forward to the next one!**

**EDIT: Just so you guys know, Near still doesn't have a clue that Mello is a boy. XD They had an entire conversation without really mentioning genders.  
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**Please review!  
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	16. Games

**Ugh, I've just lost all the files with my stories in them. –cries endless tears- But, I'm glad this chapter didn't get deleted or I would have had a breakdown. I made it long for you guys!  
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**WARNING: If you are squeamish, do not read this chapter. You can skip over it and read the next one.**

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**Freedom.

On the first day of his freedom, Beyond Birthday almost didn't know what to do with himself. Obviously, he had to get as far away from Wammy's House as possible, but other than that, what should he do? There was no Roger to annoy, no nannies to scare, no children to stare at, and no Mello to…well, there was no Mello.

Now, Beyond might have been a genius, but he was naïve. He had never been out in the real world, alone and unguided. At Wammy's House he only dealt with theory and in the safety of the orphanage. Reality, unfortunately, was not so kind.

Surely, sneaking out of the country wasn't that difficult. After all, criminals did it all the time. So, taking the $600 he pilfered from Roger's office, Beyond set out to find a criminal who could transport him to America, the lad rich with L's prey. Using all the skills he had honed over the years, it only took him two days to find a freshly established drug cartel. Lies were exchanged, money passed hands, and soon B was smuggled overseas in a large, uncomfortable duffle bag.

It was at this point, however, that things began to fall apart. Only too late did B realize that he had been double-crossed. It was such an elementary mistake, one that he himself had scoffed at while reviewing cases, and yet one that he had overlooked. How did the Backup manage to overlook betrayal? It was quite simple, actually. It was because he was still a child; an excited, overconfident child who had a goal. Beyond had been too focused on the bigger picture and failed to see the tiny rock that would cause him to stumble head over heels and clean off the precipice.

~_~_~_~_~_

There were thousands of chattering voices, irritating the already frazzled boy. He had never considered himself claustrophobic, but being contorted inside a duffle bag for over seven hours straight was no joy ride. And yet, he forced himself to remain still as the transporter carried him out of the airport. Fifteen minutes later, he was set down roughly.

"You can get out now," the gruff voice commanded as the bag was unzipped.

Bright sunlight blinded him momentarily, but B was more than ready to get out of the bag. Blood rushed to the stiff limbs and nausea struck the teen like a physical blow. Falling to his knees, B puked up all of his stomach's contents.

"Is he clean?" an unfamiliar voice asked as the boy continued to heave.

"Yep," the transporter replied. "Not on missing persons, no addictions, and not a cop."

Looking up through watery eyes, Beyond could see two people. The tall buff guy, Erin Glass, was the transporter, but he didn't recognize the shorter guy. His name was Bartholomew Jones and he was going to die in a few short years.

"Here's the money." A cold feeling clenched his stomach as his brain processed the situation. Why was a stranger paying the—oh.

Before Beyond could even attempt to bolt away on his numb legs, cold metal connected to his temple with an echoing crack. His mind went reeling, jumbling all thoughts, and pain shot through his head and neck. Warm blood poured down his face and his eyes struggled to fight off unconsciousness. "Dump him in the van," Mr. Jones commanded as he lit up a cigarette.

By the time B was able to make sense of anything, he was in a pitch black room. It took a few more minutes before he realized that his head was resting on someone's lap and that there was someone holding a rag to the wound on his head. A soft groan escaped as he tried to move; dizziness threatened to make him sick, so he settled for remaining where he was. Voices began chatting excitedly in the darkness.

"He's awake," a soft voice above him whispered. That's when Beyond put two and two together. His head was on a soft and curvy thigh and all the whispering voices were soft and feminine.

"How are you feeling?" a voice to the right asked. Wait, that wasn't English, all of the girls were speaking Russian.

"Stupid girl," another voice retorted, "does he look Russian to you?"

Well, I didn't really get a good look at him," the girl replied sadly.

"It's fine," B groaned in perfect Russian. "This is my native tongue."

A burst of excited chattering only made his headache worse. "Are you feeling any better? That brute knocked you on the head pretty good."

"Wait," B commanded as he tried to get all his thoughts in order. "Bartholomew Jones, he's a human trafficker isn't he?" A surprised gasp echoed in what seemed to be a small room. "And he's kidnapped all of you from Russia to put into prostitution here in…New York City?"

"By the holy virgin, how did you know that?" a genuinely surprised girl gasped. "And how did you know that man's name? He just goes around calling himself Mr. Jones!"

"It…doesn't really matter," B grumbled. "Am I right?"

"Yes, you are right stranger. I just don't understand why they would kidnap a boy like you?"

B bristled at being called a boy but decided that it wouldn't be wise to make enemies of three obviously beautiful Russian women. They could probably beat him to a pulp, especially in his weak condition. "There are such things as male prostitutes, you know."

All of the girls snorted before a small fit of giggling erupted. "Who would waste their money on a man?" the girl above him asked as she giggled.

"Not me," came the unanimous reply from the other girls and they all continued to giggle for a little longer. B just rolled his eyes and remained silent. If he was going to get out of here, he needed to know where he was.

"Do any of you know where we are?" he asked after silence came over them again.

"All of us were shoved into a van which transported us to some warehouse. Then we were all shoved into this funny box. That's where we are now."

"Ok, what are you names?" B asked, weary of trying to keep track of who was who in the darkness.

"I'm Nadia," the girl above him replied.

"And I'm Olga," the one who seemed to be the youngest answered.

"I'm Nakita, brother. What's your name?"

Beyond only paused for a moment. "Boryenka. Call me Boryeka."

"Well, Boryenka," Nadia whispered, "it's a pleasure to meet you. Too bad it has to be in such a terrible situation."

"Now, what did this warehouse look like?" he asked, trying to imagine where in the city they could be. He had done lots of research on New York City and had memorized the map for fun. It might just be useful after all.

"Um, it was grey," Olga replied. "And really dirty."

"There were a few broken windows," Nadia added.

Beyond felt like banging his already injured head against a wall. Really, could they be any more general? "Was there _anything_ that stuck out? Like an unusual trait?"

"We were in an enclosed van," Nakita hissed angrily. "And we didn't exactly have time to gaze around while we had to carry your sorry ass into the warehouse with us all the while being prodded by men with guns."

B bit his tongue. She was right; normal people weren't expected to observe their surroundings normally, so the chances of normal people under duress actually seeing anything useful was near zero. "It doesn't hurt to ask," he simply replied.

Suddenly, there was the faint voices of men walking over to them. All of the girls got quiet, and Beyond listened carefully for anything helpful.

"Man, I hate this part the most," a man grumbled.

"It may be boring, Danny, but the payout is great. Just shut the fuck up do the work."

"What are they saying?" Olga whispered.

"Shhh," B chided softly as he forced himself to sit up.

"The last shipment will be arriving later tonight. After that, we'll get to have a go at the girls."

The other man laughed cruelly. "Yeah, Jones treats us pretty good. But I guess that's because he's so successful. Hey, what was that boy doing in the shipment with all the girls? Don't tell me that Mr. Jones is moving into the man whoring business."

"Nah, I heard that he's needing a new player for those games he attends."

'_Player?' _B wondered. _'What the hell are they talking about?'_

"Ah, I guess his last one got killed?"

"Yeah. Was taken out by Johnny boy too."

"Awww man, that bites!"

Amid the strange conversation, B also heard the gentle clink of a strap brushing against polished metal. Damn it, those guys were carrying guns; well, not like he was expecting the guards to be unarmed, but it would have made things a lot more simple.

As soon as the guards passed by, Beyond explained the situation to the girls. "They're getting the last shipment of girls tonight and after that, you girls will be up for grab." Another gasp echoed in the metal box, but it wasn't from pleasant surprise. "After the men here use you, all of you will no doubt be hooked on drugs and pimped out on the streets until you overdose or die of some STD." Yes, B had never been good at giving information gently; A accused him of that all the time.

Olga began to cry a little and he could actually feel a death glare from Nakita. "Do you feel manly now that you've made a fifteen year old cry?"

B just sighed. "It's just the truth. I didn't intend to make anyone cry."

"Well, I won't go down without a fight," Nakita hissed. "I will tear their testicles off!"

Beyond wanted to smile. Somehow he was sure that she would; at least, at first she would try. Give her a few days, and even her Russian toughness would succumb to the horrors of prostitution. "Now, have any of you heard of 'players' in a 'game' since you've gotten here?"

The answer was a resounding no. _'Perfect. I'm stuck in a situation where I don't have any useful information. I don't even know what the hell is in store for me! If I did, then it wouldn't be so hard to plan an escape. Now, what would L do?'_

Pausing in horror, B realized that he had fallen back into the techniques he was taught at Wammy's House. Think of what L would do and then do it. Garbage; he was going to do things his way, and it was going to be better than L's way.

~_~_~_~_~_

The sounds of more girls being ushered in made the three Russian girls sick to their stomachs. On the outside, B didn't seem bothered at all, but on the inside he was cringing. It was different to read about human trafficking in the reports and to actually be thrown in the middle of it. Even though all of them were soon to be raped by men, all three of the girls had huddled closer to him; it was as if they were hoping that he could some how save them.

"I-I'm scared," Olga whispered, her tremors easily felt. "What can we do?"

"If you fight, you might die faster; if you don't fight, you might not die fast enough. Tough choice," B replied flatly.

"Well I refuse to give up," Nakita answered. However, her trembling frame betrayed her fear.

"I don't want to be lost forever here," Nadia whispered. "Hail Mary, full of grace…"

All three of the girls continued with the prayer, increasing the fervency as they began to hear the screams of some other girls. Beyond wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to the whole situation. He felt sick to his stomach, but didn't know if that was from his concussion or from the fact that he could here young girls being raped. What would these sick people do with him? It was already obvious that a "player" wasn't a man prostitute, but what else could they want him for?

A small hand squeezed his arm desperately. "I…I'm a virgin, Borjenka." It was Olga. "P-please, I don't want my first time to be rape."

"What are you saying?" Nadia asked in horror. "He's just some stranger, you don't know anything about him!"

"Nadia's right!" Nakita affirmed. "Don't give up now!"

"She's just being realistic," the cold Wammy's boy replied. Everyone was silent. "You're all probably going to be raped from now until you die. Don't belittle her just because she's scared of that."

The air was tense and Olga's hand squeezed harder. She was now sobbing. "I know that y-you don't know anything about m-me, and I know n-nothing of you, but please."

Closing his eyes, B felt like pinching himself to see if he was in some sick nightmare. Was this girl seriously asking him what he thought she was asking him? With all the screams of girls in the background? "Please what?" he asked softly; heh, Almost would have cried to see him forcing a young girl to say such a thing in such a situation.

"Take my virginity," she begged without wavering. Although she was young, Olga was most definitely a Russian.

"Fine."

The words were out before Beyond even thought about what he was doing. This was all just crazy, so why not give this girl one enjoyable moment? She would most likely never have one again. Tch, when did he become a saint for the suffering? Grinning widely, B couldn't help but chuckle. Saint Beyond, helper of the soon to die or be raped. That had a nice ring to it.

Nakita and Nadia just remained quiet and pulled away to give the other two a little privacy. However, the room was so small that there was no way they could do anything without invading the privacy of the others. Still, B was not shy; besides, there was no light, and he had nothing to be ashamed about. It was a strange situation to be in, having sex with a girl about his age that he had never seen in some strange warehouse with girls being raped in the background. Ridiculous. Yet, he did it.

Olga was his first woman, but she was easier to fuck than A was. She wasn't whining and crying, and her body was actually made to take a man inside. Her skin was smooth and felt flawless and her warm breath washed over his cold skin. Being kind, he covered her ears as he eased into her body, so that she wouldn't hear those horrid, endless screams.

"Just feel," he murmured against her throat. "Don't hear, just feel."

It was only twenty minutes later that the men came to get the girls Beyond was with. As the lock was being messed with, Olga's hand squeezed his hand tightly. He could still taste her in his mouth, and she could still feel him between her thighs. "Thank you," she whispered again. He only squeezed her hand back.

Bright light invaded the dark room as the doors were swung open. The men snickered as everyone squinted in pain. Rough hands grabbed at the women, forcing them out. There was the sound of struggling, and Beyond held Olga's hand tightly until their hands were finally yanked apart. A man pulled him out of the box and threw him to the cold cement floor. The nausea threatened to bubble over, but he reigned in his body. Glancing up, he finally saw the three girls that he had just spent the past twelve hours with.

Nadia Valentine had delicate brown eyes and bouncy auburn hair. Her pale skin looked every bit as soft as it had felt under his head. Those eyes were filled with terror as men's hungry hands tore at her clothes and groped at her body. She would die in less than a year. Nakita Gorbachov had the most lovely chocolate colored hair swinging around as she fought her assailants bravely; fierce green eyes flashed with hatred and pure terror and the men's laughs echoed in the hollow building. She would live for another thirty years. Finally, Olga Kuznetsov. Beautiful, little Olga. Her white blond hair was pulled cruelly by the men and angry bruises were already forming on her milky white skin. Her wide round eyes were such a light green that they were almost yellow; they would have been beautiful if not for the utter panic in them. And she…by the gods, no…

A large man shoved Beyond to the floor and held him there. Long pale fingers scratched against the cement fruitlessly and he tried everything to get free. Unfortunately, good luck was never on his side.

"What's this?" a large fat man asked as he yanked Olga's panties off. "Oh, lookie here, boys! This girls been a little busy already!" Tears streamed down her face as she struggled. Shoving his calloused fingers into her the man frowned. "Heh, looks like she wasn't entertaining herself either."

The other men's attentions turned to the struggling boy. As he was held down, another man came up and kicked him in the face. Girls screamed and men laughed as a few men proceeded to beat Beyond up. There were six full grown men and only one underfed teen, but these men did not have a sense of justice. Hell, they didn't even have pride. Bones cracked and blood ran, but he was utterly helpless.

"What's going on here?"

Coughing up blood, B recognized the voice as that of Bartholomew. "Boss, this guy here screwed the girl!"

"Hey, castrate him!" another guy yelled out and the men cheered in agreement.

Taking the opportunity of the men's attention not being fully on him, Beyond delivered a kick to his captor's groin. The man screamed in pain and B flung him off. Wiping his bloody mouth, he looked around ready to defend himself against anymore attacks.

"Boy, what's your name," Bartholomew commanded. B just glared at him and spat on the ground. A large smile split the man's face. "Good, you'll be just perfect. All right, don't kill him. Listen up!" he yelled making sure to get his subordinates' attention. "This girl here has committed a crime. She gave her body up without getting permission." Looking at the men closest to him, he gave the final order. "Make an example of her."

It was like watching a train wreck. It was so horrendous, so disgusting, but people couldn't tear their eyes away. The filthy men gang-raped her, breaking her tiny delicate body. Her shrieks echoed in the building, the only sounds other than the men's harsh breathing. A man pulled on her blood drenched hair, yanking her head back much farther than it was meant to go. A sickening crack ended the screams. And the number above her head was zero.

As soon as her mangled body was dropped on the floor, Beyond realized that he had been screaming. He was struggling against a much larger man, screaming Russian words to her, but it was too late. Olga was dead.

~_~_~_~_~_

Only a few nights later, Beyond found out what being a player meant. After the incident at the warehouse, he was dragged away and taken to another safehouse. There he was bound at all times. A doctor came in to tend to his wounds and he even got a few meals, but Beyond couldn't stomach it.

"You're going to regret not eating now," a man named Kevin grumbled. "You'll think back on this fondly after you're introduced into the game."

After that, he was handcuffed and led to an abandoned building. Strangely enough, they went up a staircase straight to the fourth floor instead of going into the first floor. B also noticed that the building seemed completely sealed from the third floor down. Biting back the terrible feeling he was getting, B just focused on getting free. Unfortunately, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of him getting out. He was led into a room with a large hole in the floor. Peeking down, he could see that it seemed to be a tunnel that led straight down to the first floor.

There was a group of other men and teens in the room and each of them were bound just like he was. And just like him, they each had some rich bastard behind them. Bets were placed and then the rules were explained by a large black man with tattoos covering nearly every inch of him.

"Listen up, you worthless bitches. Here are the rules for the Game. I'll only say them once, so listen well. All ten of you will be sent down to the first floor. Once there, you will be able to freely travel within the three floors. There will be cameras watching your every move. Now, within those three floors, there are two weapons: a gun and a knife. On top of that, there will be bullets for the gun lying around. Now, ten of you are going in, but only one of you will be able to come up. It's a fight to the death until you are the last man standing."

B was feeling sick and he could see the same sentiments on the other players' faces.

"Other than surviving, there are no rules," the man continued. "There will be no food or water given, so it's best to try to kill the others off quickly. Now, once we confirm that everyone is dead, the survivor just has to come back to this hole and we'll send down a ladder to pick him up. Not only will you be freed, but the winner receives ten thousand dollars. With that, he can choose to either buy his freedom or he can stay in the Game and move on to another round."

All of the guards lifted up their weapons and took aim at the prisoners while a few men unlocked the handcuffs. Without another word, all of them were shoved towards the gaping hole. Thinking fast, Beyond realized something important. That drop was three stories down! The first test was to somehow survive that fall.

A man screamed as he was finally shoved into the hole. Not wasting time, Beyond jumped in after him. The best way to survive such a fall without a fatal injury would be to use another person as a shock absorber. Still, it was either thought up than done. As a matter of fact, it nearly failed. The man fought with him in the few precious seconds in the air before he collided with the floor. Blood and brain matter splattered against the floor and Beyond landed on top, crushing the man's ribcage. Still, his feet landed against the metal floor and he screamed in pain. Not having time to cry over his fractured feet, Beyond rolled out of the way as the rest of the bodies fell down.

The sickening crunches could be heard behind him but he didn't take the time to look back. With fractured feet he was at a huge disadvantage, so he needed a head start to try to find those weapons. Panic welled up within him as he heard the screams and more bone cracking. He needed to move quickly.

Two days into this Game, and B was left laughing with a bloody knife clenched to his chest. What the fuck was wrong with people? These rich drug dealers were making bets on each of them, treating them like nothing more than chess pieces. And that's all they were. They had been ordered to kill, and that's exactly what they all did; of course, he was no exception. What happened to morals? What happened to sanity? How was it that people could live through their lives, complaining about how much their lives sucked when there were Games like this going on? Had those fucking pussies ever felt pain, had they ever murdered with their bare hands in self-defense?

That's all L was, one of those spoiled children. He only picked cases that interested him, but what about all the victims that he left to their own devices? What about Olga? That bastard claimed to be delivering justice, but all he did was boost his own self-confidence and become famous. But, it wasn't enough to make a mockery of justice; no, he had to create a place that would train foolish children to do the exact same thing he was doing.

"Ha ha ha ha! How does it feel to be a god, you worthless bastard! I bet you love it up there!"

An intercom system turned on. "You there with the knife."

"Ah, who, me?" he asked innocently as he waved the knife around.

"Yes, what's your name?"

"Borjenka," B replied cheerily. "How many more before I get out of this hell-hole?"

"Well, Borjenka, you're the winner. Please come to the exit and you'll get your reward."

Sneering, B wiped the knife on his tattered blue jeans. Reward? He didn't want a damn reward, he just wanted to get the hell out of here. However, he had been giving it some serious thought. Did they really think that he would fall for the promises of going away free? If it was true, then things would be easy from here on out. If not, then he would just have to bide his time until they made a mistake. B was a very patient person and he was stubborn if nothing else. But…it wasn't just freedom that he wanted. No, vengeance was burning inside his chest. Bartholomew Jones would be dead before he escaped this hellish existence. Then he could deal with L.

Sure enough, once he was pulled up, the money was presented to him. Then they all pointed their guns at him. "Do you want to withdraw," Mr. Jones asked kindly. "Or would you like to stay in the Game? If you stay, all the prize money will automatically go to me. If you leave, we will shoot you and all of the money will go to me. What do you say?"

Beyond couldn't help but laugh. "Me, leave? Who are you kidding! The Game's just started."

Smiling widely, B noticed how many of the guards holding the guns began to shake. He had clearly unnerved them. Then again, he was good at doing that so he shouldn't have been surprised.

"Well, well, well," another old man chuckled. "Jones, let me buy this boy off of you. I'll give you ten million."

Anger flared in B's mind, but he didn't let it show on his face. Even if he was sold off, he would make sure to find the bastard Jones, and he would rip out his entrails and choke the man with them. However, Jones didn't seem too keen to get rid of the teenager who had just survived such an interesting round. He had easily made over twenty million.

"No way, not for such a cheap price."

The old man, Humbert laughed. "I see. Where will you be taking him next?"

Jones looked up thoughtfully. "Well, he'll need to get those feet fixed, but I want to throw him into the circuit as soon as possible. The Master's Game will be held in Los Angeles, right?"

"That's right. If he makes it that far, I'll make sure to let him have a go at my Rick. He's been undefeated for two years already."

'_How sweet,'_ B thought to himself as he practiced twirling the knife around. _'It's like they're discussing horse races.'_

"We're leaving," Jones finally announced. "Mark, wrap him up."

The knife was taken away quickly and the handcuffs were clicked on. With a firm kick to his side, B left that place like he had come in.

~_~_~_~_~_

The sound of water dripping was comforting. By now, he was too far insane to be annoyed by that constant sound. Drip, drip, drippity, drip. Hehehe, it was like a song. La, la, la, la, LA! Pale hands waved slowly through the air, orchestrating the band that wasn't there. It was a symphony, a beautiful work of art. Music, all music to his ears. A rat paused, its beady eyes glittering; however, it shuddered in fear and scampered off. The sound of its paws pattering across the cement only added to his musical piece. Yes, it was improvisation, just like jazz.

Then a sound that could not be considered beautiful interrupted his performance. His stomach was growling. How sad. Dark eyes opened, finally taking a look at his surroundings. The stench no longer bothered him, and the darkness would have frightened full grown men. However, he was neither a full grown man nor frightened. Darkness was not as frightening to him as the light was. Another growl from his stomach reminded him that he was hungry and that he needed to finish his meal before some other critter did. Lifting up the still warm and bloody liver from the ripped open body, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Kya ha ha ha ha!"

Licking his fingers, B looked around warily. This Game had taken two weeks and by his accounts there should only be one man left to kill. Rick. Cutting an artery on his unfortunate victim, the pale genius hungrily lapped up his warm blood. Without food or water, it had become survival to the extreme. By now, he had forgotten how long ago it was when he had first tasted the flesh of a fellow man. Now, it was almost second nature. He could have tried to eat the rats, but they were undoubtedly full of diseases. At least humans were a little cleaner.

Licking his lips, B stood up as much as he could in the cramped tunnel and he began to move. Rick was good, damn good. He wasn't undefeated for years on end without reason. However, Beyond wasn't undefeated for years either without good reason. It had taken him a little while, but he had learned of an advantage that only he had. His cursed eyes had become the ultimate weapon in this entire godforsaken game.

The hardest part of killing a person was actually killing them. The human body was resilient and a person's will to live was quite a frightening thing. He had almost lost his own life to a few confrontations with people whose times were not up yet. Still, he could not see his own lifespan and that frightened him. What if it was his time to die? Would he die here in a rancid sewer system without facing off with L? Clenching his fist around his knife, Beyond continued to walk through the maze of tunnels. He would not die.

"_Beyond, you could just end it now and be with me."_

"Hmmm, that sounds lovely, Almost," he chuckled.

"_I love you, you know. We could be happy together."_

"Oh," he grunted as he waded through a river of filth, "I'm sure it would be positively divine. You're not being such a bitchy little girl anymore, are you?"

"_Of course not."_

"Well, that's good. Give me a sec." Placing the knife carefully in between his teeth, Beyond hauled his body up to higher ground. Once he was up, he grabbed the weapon gingerly, spinning it around his hand with expert ease. "Now, what were we talking about?"

"…_Come be with me."_

"Ah, that. Sorry, it sounds nice and all, but L and I have a score to settle. I can't die without teaching that Princess a nice lesson."

"_What would Mello think if he saw you? Look, you've become a murderer, a damn cannibal!"_

Pausing, B looked down at his thin fingers. They were still stained with the blood of his most recent kill. "He'll never have to see me like this," he whispered. "When he does see me again, I won't be filthy or imitating anyone. I'll just be myself."

"_That still doesn't take away the fact that you've become a monster!"_

"No, but I don't have to tell him. Once I'm out of this, I'll never look back. It'll be like I never existed in these Games."

"_You know that such a dream is stupid. You will always carry a part of this with you. Always."_

Clenching his fingers, B shook his head. "I could never hurt him. Because I…"

At that moment, he dashed to the other side of the tunnel and listened. He had heard a sound. His heartbeat seemed to echo through the whole passage as he waited and listened. There seemed to be movement, but he wasn't sure if it was just some more rats. Only more dripping sounds. Still, he was wary; he hadn't survived as long as he had without listening to his instincts.

Carefully, he took a step forward. Dark eyes darted around as he continued to move forward. Then there was a cough. All his senses went into overdrive as he tried to pinpoint where that sound had come from. All of these damnable tunnels echoed so badly, so it would be easily to misjudge where the sound came from. The talented brain worked quickly analyzing the possible sound patterns and the source of that sound. Taking a deep breath, B decided to put his plan into action.

"Kya ha ha ha!" He laughed loudly as he spun around, open to any attacks. Good thing this round didn't have guns. "One, two, buckle my shoe; three, four, shut the door; five, six, pick up sticks; seven, eight, lay them straight!"

Surely his little display would both frighten and intrigue his target. Never had there been a player who was quite the same brand of crazy as Beyond, and he was quite proud of that. No one knew what to expect from him, and that had helped him throughout the Games as well. How could one prepare for an enemy who didn't even seem to know what he was going to do next? He was anything but predictable, and that was exactly how he liked it. That's how everything was going to end.

Yes, there he was. Rick was crouched near the intersecting tunnels eying him nervously. That pretty little blade was twitching in anticipation, but Rick was being cautious. Good boy, predictable. "Do you hear the melody!" he screamed loudly as he dropped his own knife into the sludge-like water. "London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down! London Bridge is falling down, my faaaiiiirrrrr, lady!"

Once B's back turned towards him, Rick decided to take the lunge. He launched himself at the pale man with the deadly speed of a seasoned killer, and Beyond knew he had to just wait…wait…and now! Kicking up his favorite weapon from the water, B spun around caught it just in time to stab it into his leg.

'_Fuck, I missed!'_

Rick's knife cut into his side, but he forced himself not to stop. The moment he backed down, he would die. Deadly metal flashed before burying into the soft flesh of the victims. The older man managed to cut clean across B's wrist, but B only laughed harder as more blood rained down on them.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Rick screamed as the knife finally buried itself into his jugular.

Holding his enemy so tenderly, B licked the blood from his lips and leaned close to whisper in his ear. "I am Beyond everything, dearest Rick." Closing the fading eyes, Beyond began to waltz with his heavy opponent. "Ah ha ha ha ha! Hee hee, ha ha, ho!"

The infernal intercom piped up. "Congratulations, Borjenka! Proceed to the exit."

Giving the bird to the camera he knew was there, B set Rick down. "What a pity, the rats will be feasting on you soon." With a quick slash, he ripped open the other's stomach cavity. Blood poured out over his hands, and in a perverse mimic of a child finger-painting, Beyond left his mark. This was the last damn Game he would play in, and he would shut down the system. Blood smeared on the wall, leaving a message for any who would ever enter this system again.

Finally, he was standing at the exit awaiting the guard that would come pick him up. Scratching the back of his head, he barely paid attention to the blood that was pumping out of his body. He would take care of that later. The grate above him was yanked open by a behemoth of a man and he smiled crookedly at the man. Bobby, what a cute name. The rope was let down and he clung on to it. Within a few minutes he was brought into the betting room handcuffed and with a ball gag tied to his mouth painfully. They were extra careful ever since he bit a guard's finger off.

"Good job!" Jones shouted. The other men in the room cheered. Even though they had lost money, it was the entertainment that really mattered and B always delivered. "Now I own the best player out there. You should be proud of yourself, Borjenka."

B tried to say something, but the gag made it a little difficult. "Here, a toast," a Mr. Edwards exclaimed. "To the Games!"

As everyone moved to cheer, B decided to make his move. It was time; when else would he see so many lives end at the exact same time? With a hard yank, his blood soaked hand slipped out of handcuff and he delivered a kick to the guard nearest him. The man fell back in surprise and his gun was easily yanked away. Using the heavy instrument like a club, Beyond smashed in the guards' faces before any of them could react, then he flipped the weapon to point at all the stunned businessmen. Slowly, he peeled the gag off, smacking his lips when it was finally removed.

"Oh, don't feel the need to stop on my behalf," he coughed. "I mean, we're celebrating the Games, aren't we?"

"B-borjenka, what are you doing?" Jones asked carefully.

"Well, I just thought up of a nice little game you guys can play," he exclaimed in mock surprise. "I mean, in the spirit of the games and all." All of the men looked nervous, and they should have. "Why don't we have a little Game, right here in this room? I mean, since you guys enjoy it so much, why don't you try it?"

All of the men looked around nervously. Edwards set his cup down and stepped forward. "Borjenka, stop this foolishness. Come now, have a drink with us."

Taking aim, B shot the man in the foot. Edwards howled in pain and all the men began trembling like the worthless little worms that they were. "As I was saying," B continued, "Here are the rules. They're actually quite simple! There are ten of you, and only one of you will be getting out alive. Whoever comes out alive will get _all_ of the money," he said, waving towards the large pile on the billiard table. "On top of that, the winner will get to walk away free. He won't ever have to participate in a Game again; as a matter of fact, I don't think he'll ever want to."

Grabbing the remaining guns on the floor, B backed out of the room. "Don't do this," Jones asked almost angrily. "You'll regret it."

"Remember," B replied with a charming smile, "the faster you kill your opponents, the sooner you get to walk away with all the money and you even get to eat."

~_~_~_~_~_

Sighing contentedly, Beyond sat down on an abandoned swing set. Its parts were all rusted and there were weeds growing all over the place. Swinging back and forth, he hummed to the rhythm of the creaks. LA, huh? City of the angels. Looking down at his blood soaked clothes he contemplated that. This was anything but the city of the angels. All of those fucking pigs were dead now. However, he didn't just stop there. Once they were dead, he hacked apart their bodies and used their money to ship off each piece to a different arena. It was child's play once he hacked into their files. Attached to each body part was a piece of paper with a threat. If the Games didn't stop, then the same would be done to each Master who ran the Games. Considering that he had just killed the top Masters, he was pretty sure that the message would come across as very real. If the Games didn't stop, then he would just ship a fresh body to the police and have them sort through things.

"_Freedom again, B. What are you going to do now?"_

Cracking his neck, he watched the fiery sun slowly droop under the horizon. "I need to create a case. One that's so difficult, that L can never solve it."

"_Huh?"_

"If I beat L at his own game, then I win. L will have failed and I will have become better."

"_Are you trying to impress someone?"_

"Almost, quit toying with me. I've wasted who knows how long when I could have been working to beat L. But that won't set me back. As a matter of fact, I think I learned a few things."

Clenching the chains tightly, Beyond Birthday continued to swing slowly. Darkness took over, so pitch black that it would have frightened any sane adult man. But then again, Beyond was not an adult and he was not frightened.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Borjenka is a Russian name that means "fighter". Fitting, isn't it? And the scene with Beyond singing childish games was inspired by the song Shoots and Ladders by Korn. **

**So, this chapter wore me out! I apologize if it was a bit weird, but it's something that I've wanted to do. I really wanted to split this into two chapters and go into even more details about what exactly happened during the games and some stuff in between, but I decided that this was more than enough gore and horror for you guys. I apologize if this results in any nightmares (but I would be pretty happy too, lol). **

**Basically, I wanted to give B a strong background, one in which I could add his more maniacal side and yet it would also serve as a preparation for the BB murder case. As a side note, Jones was the one who survived the mini-Game that Beyond forced the men to do. After he won, B stabbed him to death in revenge for the lovely Russian women, Nadia, Nakita, and most importantly, Olga. **

**Finally, I leave it up to each of you to interpret the parts where A is talking to B. There are three possible interpretations that I can think of, but I would like you all to take it as you will. Please review and let me know what you thought of this insane chapter. The next chapter will be back to decidedly more happy times with M, M, and N. **

**This was written to Sixx:AM - Van Nuys. Such a lovely song.  
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	17. Not a girl

**Sorry for the delay and any future delays. There's been a death in my family, so yeah, the mood to write has gone for a hike. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or its characters.  
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**There was something completely wrong with this picture. As Near narrowed his eyes, he stared at the scene that had been bothering for the past few days. Outside in the bright sun and itchy green grass the boys were playing yet another infernal game of soccer. In the midst of them was a smiling and bruised Mello. Scratching his head, Near turned his attention to the group of girls that always seemed to hover near the soccer boys and Mello. Turning his attention back to his acquaintance, Near's frown deepened; why was Mello the only girl playing soccer with a bunch of rough and disrespectful boys? She had been tackled mercilessly, shoved, cursed at, and kicked in the shins. Where was the sense of chivalry in this place? Wasn't Europe supposed to be obsessed with stuff like that?

A loud laughter rang out as beautiful Mello scored yet again. She was an absolute goddess of the game and he vaguely wondered if that was why she was here in this orphanage. After all, this was a place full of gifted individuals, and who could rule out a genius in sports? Biting his lip to will away the pain, he got up on his tippy toes and looked out to see the brunette that always seemed to follow Mello. His name was Matt and he seemed to be the blonde's official stalker; why no one did anything about that was beyond the young boy. Matt looked very uncomfortable out there in his thick hoodie, but he just wiped the sweat from his brow and continued playing his game. What a strange individual.

Bells began to chime softly, beckoning the children to come in for lunch. Limping to the door, Near looked both ways to make sure that none of the nurses were around; once he was sure that the coast was clear, he slowly made his way to the cafeteria. Even though he was still weak and recovering, he wanted to talk to Mello. He was really concerned about her safety. Men were just built differently from women and surely she would get seriously injured if she continued to play with the rude boys. She might even have to have surgery like he did, and that was definitely something he didn't want to happen.

Peeking into the large cafeteria that was already full of chattering children, Near's grey eyes scanned the crowd for his acquaintance. It didn't take long at all to spot the charismatic blond; all the attention seemed to be on her and it was obvious that she loved every second of it. Her stalker followed close behind her with a glazed over look, as if he was zoning out or something. Weirdo.

Before Near had a chance to come up with a plot to gain Mello's attention without bringing attention to himself, a girl with pigtails spotted him and squealed loudly. Everyone's head seemed to turn to him and a pink blush painted his entire face and even his neck. "Hey, you must be the new kid!" she exclaimed.

Whispers broke out making Near very uncomfortable. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to come out here. A loud slam made everyone jump. Mello, the culprit, frowned at everyone. "What the heck's wrong with you guys?" he complained loudly. "Acting like you've never seen another kid before, you ought to be ashamed! Now leave him the bloody hell alone!"

Near was taken aback by the immediate reaction in the room. All eyes turned away from him and the kids tried to mind their own business. Near's confusion only increased further as he saw Mello pat her stalker's head in affection before sauntering towards him. Who was this girl to command respect from the rest of the orphans? It was awe-inspiring to say the least. He would never be able to do something like that.

"Are you feeling better, Near?" she asked cheerily as she approached him with her delicate hands buried in her jean pockets. Grass stains and dirt speckled the jeans and her short sleeved shirt and bruises and scrapes covered her thin arms. It was a sad sight to him.

"Um, why do you play such a dangerous game?" he whispered, looking down at the floor. Talking still unnerved him.

"Eh? What do you mean? Football's fun! It's not really dangerous unless you don't pay attention."

"The damage to your arms says otherwise."

Looking down at the marks, Mello just shrugged and laughed it off. "Aw, these? They don't hurt nearly as much as the ones I give those other plonkers."

Plonker, what a strange term. Still, Mello didn't reassure his worries at all. "Mello, why don't you play with other girls?" he pleaded softly. Why was this bothering him so much? When Mello didn't reply, he cautiously looked up and was graced with the most awesome sight he had seen in his few short years.

Confusion turned to blazing rage on Mello's face. Those wondrous eyes widened and seemed to catch aflame and that petite chest puffed out in indignation. Shrinking back, Near wondered why she was acting that way, but before he could think too much on it, a fist connected with his eye. At first, he wasn't quite sure how to react to being hit, but soon his body took over. Near just fell back like a felled tree.

"You git!!! Who the bloody hell are you calling a girl?!"

Laughter erupted in the cafeteria only fueling Mello's rage, but Near was still too much in shock to do anything else. He just remained splayed out on the floor where he had fallen ungracefully. The injured eye had already swollen shut and he was gifted with a blurry view of the immaculate ceiling.

Hearing the uproar, Roger decided to take a detour and see what was going on in the cafeteria. To his horror, he spotted Mello preparing to jump on Near and make a very messy puddle of flesh out of him. "Mello!" he screeched before sprinting to the boy and sweeping him up and away from the defenseless child. "What in heaven's name are you doing?!"

Mello struggled in his grip, still fully intent on punishing Near for such a stupid presumption. How dare he think that Mello was a girl! A girl! It didn't help that he was slender and always having to fight off the sly remarks from the other guys, but this was too much. "He called me a girl, and I'm NOT a girl!"

"Goodness gracious, I think you knocked him out!" Roger cried as he watched Near's eyes roll to the back of his head and his none-swollen eyelid slip shut. "Someone, get a nurse over here now!"

~_~_~_~_~_

It was so ridiculously hard. Squeezing his hands into balls, Matt really did try not to laugh at his best friend's predicament. Unfortunately, he wasn't strong enough. A fit of giggles escaped before he could control it and Mello shot him a dirty glare. "Shut up, Matt. Just shut up."

"I can't (snort) believe you hit (giggle), you hit him!"

"Matt, I don't want to hear this from you too." Squirming uncomfortably on his sore rear end, Mello stared at the rows of books in Roger's bookshelf. All of them seemed to be really old and in a bunch of different languages. Most referred to some kind of bug. "Besides, you'd be pretty hacked off too if someone called _you_ a girl."

"No way," Matt assured. "Besides, no one would ever think _I_ was a girl." That comment earned him a punch in the arm, but it was fine with him. He deserved it.

Both boys went silent as Roger walked into his office with a scowl on his face. Instead of looking repentant, Mello just crossed his arms and huffed angrily. "Mello, you know what you did was wrong, right?" Roger asked.

"No, it was justified. He called me a girl, and he earned a punch."

"Well, he didn't know any better, and you can't blame him for that. Now, I want you to go and apologize to him."

Stubbornness flashed in his turquoise eyes. "Well, I don't wanna," he stated as if he had the final say.

"I don't care if you want to or not, young man," Roger huffed. "You're still going to. It's the right thing to do."

With a deepening frown, Mello glanced over at Matt. The brunette just shrugged. "Hey, what's the harm? I mean, now that you socked him in the eye, he'll never call you a girl again."

Wincing, Mello slid off the chair and forced himself to walk to Near's room where the boy was no doubt. On the way to the room, he began to feel a little guilty; the pale boy _was_ new, and even Mello couldn't deny his feminine looks. He even forced the nannies to cut his hair in this bob to honor his mother, so it wasn't too surprising that he was mistaken for a girl. Still, it hurt his pride.

By the time he reached Near's room, the fiery blond decided that he should apologize. It would be stupid to lose a friend over something so petty. Besides, Near was shy and needed all the help he could get; if Mello left him alone, what would he do? He would probably become a recluse, and that thought was enough to convince the older boy that an apology was in order. When he walked into the room, he saw that Near was on the bed, propped up by a bunch of pillows. An ice pack wrapped in a hand towel had been taped over his black eye, but at least he was conscious.

"Near?"

The boy turned his head slowly in the direction of the older boy. "Oh, Mello. I apologize for the misunderstanding." Mello was shocked by how easily the boy could apologize, especially for something that wasn't really his fault.

"Er, well I came to say sorry too," he mumbled. "I shouldn't have hit you in the eye. Or at all."

Near just smiled a little. "I've been hurt far worse before, so there's no need for you to worry. However, that was my first experience at receiving a black eye from a peer."

Mello sweatdropped. "You're welcome?" Glad that Near didn't seem upset, he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the small socked feet through the blanket. "Here, I'll give you a foot rub!"

Those fingers stroking his sensitive flesh sent shocking new feelings through Near. For some strange reason, a laugh wanted to bubble up uncontrollably, and he wanted to jerk his feet away. Struggling with the foreign feelings, he tried to just focus on staying still. However, a smile widened on his face and eventually a few giggles slipped past his pale lips. Looking up, Mello couldn't help but smile.

"What, are your feet ticklish?" he asked before stroking the skin even rougher. Near jerked and giggled even harder. "You are! Where else?!"

For the first time since he was a very small child, Near openly laughed as his body was mercilessly attacked by those strong hands. He laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes.

~_~_~_~_~_

"It's hot," Matt stated as he pressed his head against the window screen.

"Eat your ice pop and it won't be so hot," Mello chided tiredly as he slowly licked his chocolate popsicle. "I stole these so you better appreciate it."

Near frowned as he carefully licked his grape flavored treat. "You really shouldn't steal you know."

"Yes mother," Mello replied, too hot to really care about being scolded by a younger boy.

Matt's mouth wrapped around the entire orange block of frozen sugar water and he noisily sucked on it. Some saliva mixed with the sugary treat slid down the wooden handle and onto his hand, but he couldn't muster the energy to care. He _really _hated hot weather.

"Matthew, you really should take that hoodie off or you'll get a heat stroke," Near advised.

"I told you already, it's just Matt. And I don't care."

"Just take it off, Mattie," Mello groaned as he stuck his legs up in the air in a vain attempt to get the sweat rolling down the back of his knees to dry off. His back rested against the sort-of cool floor and his head was resting on the round belly of his newest friend. "Near's not gonna care about the scars."

"Scars?" Near asked softly before licking his treat again. His own legs were propped up against the bed while the rest of his body rested on the floor with Mello.

Almost unconsciously, Matt tugged his sleeves further down to cover his hands. "None of your business, Near."

"Don't be a git, Mattie," Mello commanded. "Besides, I can't have you dying on me."

Huffing unhappily, Matt slipped the hoodie off, revealing his white pre-pubescent torso. Most of the scars had faded into his already sickly pale skin, only the worst ones sticking out. Dropping the heavy article of clothing onto the floor, Matt resumed his task of sucking on his popsicle before it melted completely.

"I have scars too, if it makes you feel better," Near replied flatly.

Matt just scowled at him. "Duh, all kids have scars. Do you think I'm stupid or something?"

"I was referring to serious scars, Matthew. Since you _are_ smart, I trust that you understood that."

Matt bristled at the condescending tone. "Serious scars? Hah, what did you get bit by a little puppy or something? You couldn't ever understand true pain, pussy."

Such an uneducated taunt like that shouldn't have affected Near, but it did. Even though having a tragic past wasn't a requirement for getting into this place, it didn't mean that he was just some spoiled rotten kid who happened to lose his parents. He had faced enough horrors to last a life time, and this rude boy had no right to tell him what he could and could not handle.

Mello was surprised as he felt the body under him move around. Sitting up, he watched in surprise as Near stood and faced a surprised Matt. There was no anger in the young boy's face; if anything, he was looking down at the brunette with…pity? His next action shocked the two older boys. Setting his grape popsicle on its wrapper, Near proceeded to pull down his pants with a straight face. Mello squeaked and covered his eyes; he was _not_ used to this kind of thing.

"W-what are you doing?" Matt asked as he stared at the small boy standing there in his fresh white underwear.

Pulling the soft cloth away from the joint of his leg, Near revealed the large scar he received from his recent surgery. It was still an angry red and the flesh was raised as if in protest. The constant irritation from the underwear had also left angry red streaks from the wound to his pale leg and groin. "This is a scar, Matthew. Although it's just one of many, I believe that it is sufficient to make a point to you."

Matt gaped like a fish out of water; for once, his quick wit failed him and he just stared at the hideous mark. Mello's hands slipped off his eyes, and he gasped softly at what he saw. Setting his own melting treat on its wrapper, he crawled forward to get a better look at the gruesome mark. "Does it hurt?" he whispered.

"Yes," Near replied honestly. "The bone inside was injured too, so moving at all makes it hurt."

Wrapping a hand around the milky thigh, Mello couldn't help but lean in to kiss the raised scar. Matt gasped this time, and Near looked down in surprise. The blond looked up at the confused grey eyes. "Don't worry; kisses will make it feel better." With that, he planted several more slow kisses.

It was a wondrous thing. Ludicrous, even. After all, he knew that such a thing as kisses could never really make pain go away, but each kiss that was pressed against his flesh seemed to melt some of the pain away. Near watched in admiration as Mello once again cast his strange magic, and he just let himself be carried away by it. How long had it been since he had been kissed in such a tender way? There was nothing remotely sexual about the situation; it was all just…innocent.

For Matt, this whole situation was painful. Those lips that kissed his scars, the ones that always whispered away his nightmares, they were now caressing strange flesh. He wasn't the only one anymore and it made his chest burn. Why did Near have to come here? Why couldn't it just be Mello and Matt forever? He didn't even care that the sticky orange ice pop was dripping down his clenched fist and onto the wooden floor.

With a final loud kiss, Mello pulled away. "Now come on, put your pants back on," he whispered softly. Turning back to his chocolate treat he cursed loudly. "Damn it! Gah, Mattie, it's all melted!" he whined.

"I'll get you another one," the brunette replied stiffly.

"Get Near another one too!" Mello called out as he giggled at Near's attempts to figure out how to eat the falling apart dessert.

"Yeah, yeah."

That night, Matt couldn't fall asleep. All his covers were kicked at the foot of the bed and the window was wide open. The air conditioner wasn't on because Mr. Wammy was trying to be environmentally responsible, or some shit like that. It just made being in the house hell. Wiping that horrid sweat from his face, he turned over to look at Mello who was already sound asleep. That boy could sleep no matter what; he was like a damn log. Rolling on his back to face the ceiling, Matt just stared and hoped that the boredom would make him fall asleep. He was already out of batteries, and Roger was tired of paying for new ones all the time so he had ordered rechargeable ones. Unfortunately, they hadn't arrived yet, and that left Matt without entertainment.

Once again, his thoughts went back to that afternoon. It wasn't that he had anything personal against Near, he just didn't like that little brat hogging all his time with Mello. His Mello. _'Damn, why am I so possessive? Well, he did save my life and sticks with me no matter what. I guess I just don't want him to abandon me for that sheep head. Still, why am I making such a big deal out of this? He's had other friends before and yet he hasn't left me for them. Why would he abandon me now? There's no logical reason for that, I'm just being paranoid. And yet, just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean that there isn't a valid reason to worry. There's no reason for him to be attached to me."_

A voice broke his steady train of thought before he even had a chance to start his self-degrading all over again. "M-mattie," came the sleepy call. "You 'k?"

Looking back at his friend, a smile came to his lips. Mello's hair was stuck up everywhere and with the sweat beading on his skin he looked like an utter mess. "I just can't get to sleep."

Yawning, Mello stumbled out of bed and made his way to the other's bed. "Scoot over," he commanded gruffly. "It's too hot to snuggle."

Kicking the blankets completely off, Matt scooted all the way to the wall and allowed his friend to collapse on his bed. There wasn't a lot of space, but it wasn't too bad. "You don't have to come over here, you know."

"Shut up and sleep," Mello grumbled.

"Sure thing."

Leaning on his arm, Matt watched as the blond practically passed out. His pouty lips were parted as he breathed calmly against the pillow. Cheeks puffed out slightly with each exhale, and some frizzed hair blew back and forth. Even more hair was plastered against that face with sweat and he could see his angel glistening with perspiration.

'_How can this guy make something so gross like sweating look so…good? That's just wrong.'_

Chuckling to himself, Matt reached out and grabbed Mello's hand. The other's fingers clenched his hand gently and the cool glass beads of his bracelet brushed the heated flesh comfortingly. Yes, Near didn't have this, and he would make sure that it stayed that way. If he didn't have Mello, he wasn't quite sure what he would do.

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**As usual, reviews are appreciated. Thanks to all those wonderful people who have reviewed and alerted and even favorited. I was especially please at the reaction for the last chapter. B is just too much fun. So, feel free to point out any errors or anything that you liked or hated. All of it is taken into consideration. Thanks once more, and I hope that you will continue reading this story.**


	18. Twist

**Yo, I'm back peeps. At least, I hope I am. This chapter will be a little different from the rest in that I'll be covering a lot of ground in a short time, so it's a bunch of little parts. I hope that it will still be enjoyable.**

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**Slowly, ever so slowly, something strange was happening. At first, Mello didn't see it at all, but as the days dragged on he began to notice things. Matt would talk to Near more and more, a pouty look on his face as he complained about something or other. He never showed that pouty face to Mello. Other children began noticing Near more and more and they talked about him or to him. They didn't talk about Mello anymore. Even between football matches, the boys would talk about the quiet new kid. They didn't make fun of him because they were too afraid that Mello would beat them up, but still…they talked. Staring at the fogged up mirror after one of his showers, Mello began to wonder.

A cold breeze blew past the three of them as they all sat on the stairs behind Wammy's House. Near shivered a little, but Matt smiled a little. He always preferred cold weather. Chewing slowly on some chocolate, Mello watched as Near began to annoy Matt as usual. He was complaining about Matt's inability to act even remotely normal. It was a strange thing coming from someone who was all white, wore nothing but pajamas, and played with toys at any chance he got.

"You're such a dick," Matt responded smoothly as he looked down at Near.

Near snuggled a little closer to him even as he snapped back at Matt. "Such crude language is not a defense, Matthew. It is merely a sad attempt at making yourself look better."

"At least I have a wider vocabulary," Matt bragged, his eyes never looking away from Near's grey ones.

What was this strange feeling that Mello could feel bubbling up?

"Curse words hardly count as a vocabulary. They serve no logical purpose."

"You're just jealous," Matt snorted. He hadn't even touched his game during their entire conversation.

"Hey, Matt," Mello called out softly. His chest was hurting.

For a moment, it looked like the brunette wasn't going to acknowledge him, but he did tear his eyes away from the younger boy. "Yeah? Are you getting cold?"

Mello looked down at his deformed chocolate. "Come warm me up."

Smiling, Matt scooted back and pulled Mello into his lap. Although they were both about the same size, Matt didn't complain about his older friend's weight, and the blond didn't complain about his friend's bony thighs. The oversized jacket Matt was wearing was held open a little longer and soon Near joined the two boys. All three of them remained quiet as they watched the wind blow the drying leaves around. Soft fingers slipped into Mello's hand and he vaguely wondered whose hand he was holding.

~_~_~_~_~_

It was all like a dream. How had Christmas managed to sneak up so quietly? Colorful wrappers decorated the floor sadly, all that remained of the excited children's gift opening session under the huge tree. The little lights flickered and danced along each branch gracefully, making Mello sigh contentedly. Empty cups with chocolate dried on the edges rested on the carpet amidst the torn paper, and three children laid under the green tree, looking up in between the branches and the ornaments. Each soft breath echoed quietly in the dark room. Near was holding a stuffed Orca whale to his side while Matt was stroking his brand new goggles, a gift from L. Mello just sighed happily as he bit into his twelfth bar of chocolate. A pile of the sweet treat rested near his knee.

"Merry Christmas," Matt mumbled as his eyes darted around, trying to see all the blinking lights. His cold hand reached out and clenched Mello's hand.

"Indeed," Near replied tiredly as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"I love you two," Mello stated confidently as he reached over and took Near's free hand. The three of them stayed like that, soaking in the moment. It almost felt enchanted to them.

Near squeezed the hand tightly. Those words were very precious to him; for years he had neither loved nor been loved, but this boy had shattered all that. Tears welled up, but no one noticed as the salty drops rolled down his face. Matt's blue eyes slid shut as he tried to memorize everything. Was it ever possible for a more perfect moment? Although he was still a little jealous about having to share Mello's love, at least he still had it. Those three special words that would be shared between the two of them in the middle of the night.

Wintry nights always reminded Mello of his mother and her abandoning him, but for once, she didn't enter into his thoughts. The only thing on his mind was the two boys on either side of him. For him, feeling love and saying those words was so easy, and he expected their love back. It was just a given. Still, he was always more comfortable with actions than he was with words. Leaning up on his elbow, he pressed a kiss against the corner of Matt's lips before rolling to his other side and offering the same precious gift to Near.

Such an impulsive and naïve child as Mello could never understand the effects that his action caused. Both of his friends were hurt by love and yet, they were starving for even more of it. It was like a deadly and addictive drug, beckoning them to the rocky edge of life's end.

Before Mello could pull away from the quick peck that he had planted on the corner of Near's mouth, the younger boy did something unpredictable, something rash and instinctive. His chubby fingers grabbed Mello's face and he turned his head slightly so that the two of them were forced into a full-mouth kiss. The Slovenian's eyes shot open and he stared in surprise at Near's blushing and determined face. For Near, this was not his first kiss, but it was the first one that he initiated and the first one he gave away willingly. More than elation from kissing someone he was attracted to, Near was high on such a powerful action. In that one kiss, he was giving a huge "Fuck you" to his past life, to all those who hurt him. Guess what? He could love, he could kiss, and he could still live life. His tongue slipped out and gently teased Mello's ridiculously soft lips. And then, oh, that soft chocolate-flavored tongue peeked out shyly in an attempt to imitate the boy under him. Their tongues brushed against each other and it felt as if an electric jolt shot through the both of them. Mello pulled back, gasping and with a slight blush dusting his high cheek bones. Grey eyes studied that perfect face, and Near realized that he was madly and hopelessly in love.

That kiss was so quick that Matt never noticed it. He was too busy thinking about the upcoming year with Mello and Near. Life hadn't been so boring, and even though he was sharing Mello, it seemed like the older boy was giving him more attention than ever. Like a little puppy, he smiled stupidly over such trifle things as being praised, and the kiss he had just received made his heart leap for joy. In the darkness, with the lights flashing colors against the walls, no one noticed the bulge in his pants.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Near," Mello whined, "it's New Year's!"

"I am aware of that fact, Mello," the small boy replied as he searched his toy box for a particular friend of his. "What is your point?"

"Well, for one thing, we should be out celebrating!"

"We are celebrating," Near replied calmly as he pulled out his newest My Little Pony horse. "Our parade is almost complete."

Mello frowned as he looked at the long row of dolls and action figures lined up like dominoes that he and Matt would knock over. "We should be celebrating with the rest of the human race, and you know it."

The delicate boy's nose wriggled slightly. "I don't like the human race. Toys are much better."

Turquoise eyes studied the boy as a stuffed lobster doll was petted absentmindedly. Both he and Matt already knew that Near had an aversion to people, but in these private moments he would always wonder why. Surely Near was a popular kid before he came to Wammy's House. Even though he was shy, he was cute and smart; here at Wammy's he had received so much attention, and it was hard to imagine that that wasn't the case in his past life.

"Well, I like you better than toys," Mello stated softly, watching for a reaction. Near's right hand twitched a little and the corner of his lips curled before straightening out again.

"I appreciate that," he replied flatly.

Looking down at the stuffed animal in his hand, a smile curled on his lips. "And dolls don't kiss back, do they?"

Near finally looked up. "No, they don't."

~_~_~_~_~_

Twelve years old. Just one year shy of being a teenager. Matt stared at his dripping wet nude body in the fogged mirror. Almost foreign icy blue eyes stared back at him and he attempted to smile. It looked creepy to him.

"Happy birthday to me," he whispered. "Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear Mail, happy birthday to me."

"Maaaaattiiiiiieeeee!" Mello whined from outside of the bathroom. "Hurry up or your present will walk away."

Glancing over at the door, a small smile curled on his lips. "Please tell me that you didn't gift wrap Near." A huff was easily heard through the thin wood. "Fine, just a sec."

Turning his attention back to his reflection, those blue eyes glanced down at his private parts. The smooth skin from his body was starting to grow hair in a very unflattering way. It itched. Biting his lip, Matt began to wonder if he was hitting puberty. Sure, some of those guys on the pornos he used to watch had hair down there, but some of them didn't. Since he never had any, he had assumed that some people just didn't get pubic hair. Now? He was concerned that the curse called puberty was the culprit.

Pubic hair wasn't his only concern. He was getting pretty sensitive…down there. Even now, just barely brushing his fingers across the warm flesh brought a blush to his face and a flood of blood to the member. Sighing unhappily, he waited until it calmed down before he got dressed. The last thing he wanted was for Mello or even Near to see him with an erection. Especially on his birthday.

Slapping his goggles on, Matt escaped the humidity of the bathroom and entered into the cool space of the hallway. Mello was sprawled out on the carpeted floor in a loose black sweater and tight black jeans. He opened a cerulean eye before jumping up and grabbing Matt's hand. "It's about time! Let's go!" With that, he tore off down the hall dragging along his sluggish friend.

Two halls and one staircase later, they both ended up in the kitchen with a skidding screech. As soon as he looked up, Matt's mouth dropped open. Near was sitting in the middle of the tiled kitchen with a large red bow tied into his hair and a large plate of cupcakes in front of him. It was so…twee**(1)**. All of the cupcakes had a single candle sticking up out of it, and Near blinked once at them before he struck a match and lighted all of them up. Mello turned off the lights in the kitchen and them he began singing the happy birthday song loudly; the youngest of the three of them remained on the floor as he sang along quietly as he continued to stare at the cupcakes in front of him.

By the time the song ended, the smile planted lopsided on Matt's face was so wide that it almost looked painful. Mello glomped him and Near finally looked up and attempted a smile. The whole scene was just so sugary and fluffy that the birthday boy thought he was going to get diabetes just standing there.

"These cupcakes are a collaboration between Mello, me, and some of the more experienced caretakers," Near informed. "And this ridiculous ornament tied into my hair is the result of an overeager Mello."

"It looks good, doesn't it?" Mello questioned as he continued to crush his best friend in a hug.

"It looks perfect," Matt replied in awe.

"I suggest the candles be blown out before the wax dripping down makes our cupcakes inedible," the white-haired boy informed his peers.

"Yeah!" Matt agreed. He and Mello sat down around the plate and Matt blew out all the candles in one breath. "Er, Melly, it's completely dark in here now."

"I know that, stupid," Mello grumbled. The sound of him crawling to his feet and making his way to the light was followed by the shocking brilliance of the light being turned on. "There, better?"

"Yup," the birthday boy agreed. "Dude, I cannot believe that you really put a bow on Near." He stared at the said boy as Near dug out the wax and handed him the mangled cupcake.

"Well, I wanted him to look cute," Mello reasoned as he held out his hand for a cupcake.

A vein could almost be seen on Near's forehead. "Yes, and he believed that a ridiculously giant red bow would do the trick."

Matt just snickered and stuffed the treat into his mouth. Thankfully, the cupcake tasted good. "He makes such a cute birthday present. Can I keep him?"

"_If Near ever had a homicidal look, that would be it,"_ Matt thought to himself.

"I believe you are mistaken," Near interjected. "I am not your birthday present. This is just a little fan-service."

"Yeah, dummy," Mello jumped in. Grabbing a wrapped box that had completely escaped the hyper child's attention, Mello threw it at him. "And what the heck do you mean by 'fan-service', Near? Who's a fan of you?"

Before Near had a chance to reply, a very un-masculine scream of joy echoed through the entire kitchen. "No waaayyyyy! A Pokèmon Pikachu Electronic Pet Tamagotchi?!!"

Taking off his goggles to get a better look, Matt felt like crying in bliss. How did those two manage to get such a popular and expensive toy? His icy blue eyes shone in adoration as he took in that shiny yellow plastic, that lovely little screen where his own personal Pikachu could be raised in love and adoration.

"You…you really like it?" Near asked haltingly.

"Yeah, totally!"

Mello smiled bashfully as he patted Near's soft hair. "Well, I'm glad you do, Mattie. Just don't let it cut into our time too much."

"I…won't…." Matt mumbled as he tore the casing apart and turned on his brand new toy.

As soon as the annoying Pikachu gave out its cute little squeal, Matt was lost in a whole different universe and Near and Mello just sat back and gobbled up the rest of the cupcakes.

"He won't blink for at least three minutes," Near predicted as he slid his hand into Mello's.

"I bet he won't even budge for another ten hours," Mello added.

~_~_~_~_~_

Valentine's Day, the day of chocolate, or as Matt liked to refer to it: The Day that Mello Lives For. Wrapping a thick bar of Swiss chocolate in gold wrapping paper, Matt looked over at Near. His small box filled with chocolate bites was being wrapped perfectly. Not a single crinkle was out of place, and he didn't even have to use extra tape to cover up mistakes. Even the large blue bow was knotted flawlessly.

"You suck," Matt stated blandly as he looked at the mess he had created.

Near looked over at him. "You just don't pay attention to details like a do," he tried to comfort.

"Hey, why don't you wrap my present then? That way it'll look good for my little Melly bear."

"'Melly bear'?" Near questioned.

"Yeah, well, I'm running out of nicknames for him."

"Understandable."

Wincing in pain, Near reached over and slid Matt's gift closer to himself so that he could fix the mess. On closer inspection, he realized that he would just have to get a whole new sheet of wrapping paper if he was going to make it look any better. Still, it didn't take him more than two minutes to do a better job of decorating the gift than Matt had done in fifteen minutes.

"You suck," Matt mumbled in appreciation.

Mello walked into the room with a strained smile on his face. "H-hey there guys," he greeted. The smile widened almost painfully. "I, uh, got this for you guys. Happy Valentine's Day."

In each hand, Mello held out two small bags. Each boy took the bag meant for him and peeked inside. In each bag was a King Sized bar of dark chocolate along with a small handmade card. Near seemed to sparkle in happiness as he clutched his present tightly and Matt laughed at the message written in the card.

"Aww, thanks Mels!" Matt said, slapping the said boy's back. "Now, I can't eat this much sugar in a year, you know," he said pulling Mello closer. Those turquoise eyes looked up hopefully.

"You can't?"

"That's right. I'm not much of a sweets guy. Wanna share with me?"

"Yes!" Mello cried, trying not to look to giddy. "I mean, if you really think so."

"Sure thing," Matt giggled as he tore the wrapper open. "Here, have the first bite."

After Mello "helped" Matt to eat the entire bar of chocolate, Mello was presented with his gifts. It was hard to think of a time that he was any happier in his life.

~_~_~_~_~_

Mello stared in shock at Roger as the old man sat back in his large chair. He couldn't believe the words that had just been uttered and he tried to keep the tears of frustration and betrayal from falling.

"W-what?"

"We've been going over all the grades and projects, and as of now, Near has become the number one."

All kinds of thoughts raced through the blonde's head. How could this be? Near knew how much this meant to him, he _knew_ how proud Mello had been to keep the record of number one. He knew it and yet…

"You're wrong," Mello gasped as clutched the chair for support. "Near can't, no, he wouldn't!"

Roger gave him a concerned look and stood up. "Mello, get a grip! This is how it should be! Mello, this is the real world. You will have to fight for the right to be number one, and the best man will win."

That pale face that struggled to show any kind of emotion flashed through Mello's mind and it made him sick. They were friends, close friends. He loved Near, and this was how the boy repaid him? By stabbing him in the back? How long and hard had he been studying while Mello slacked off in an effort to keep up with his demanding social life? Matt had never done anything like that; _he_ had never betrayed his friend. At that moment, Mello hated more than he had ever hated in his entire life.

Blind rage overtook him as he raced to the play room where that white devil was no doubt. Everything seemed to become clear to the emotional boy. Near had been playing him this entire time; he was trying to steal everything away from Mello. All the attention he gave to Matt, all the times he must have been studying in secret, and all the attention he received from the other orphans even though he faked his dislike of it. It was all a lie. He was trying to steal Matt, he stole the title of number one, and he stole all the attention away. That bastard was going to pay.

Near sat on the floor smiling at his Lego tower. It was a replica of the Eiffel Tower and he was sure that Mello and Matt would enjoy it. On top of that, he had some wonderful news to share with them. Earlier, Roger had called him and informed him that he had secured the position of first place to become the next L. Personally, Near really didn't give a damn about L or anything of the sort; no, his reason for reaching the number one spot was completely selfish. The truth was, he was hoping to get more attention from Mello by doing this. Every time his older friend talked about "the number one", his eyes would shine and he would become more animated. Surely, if Near became number one, Mello would be impressed and he would love Near all the more for it. After all, isn't that how things normally went? People would praise and adore the best, and if he was the best, Mello would have to praise and adore him. Ah, the thought alone was enough to send him into a fit of giggles.

"Damn, you're scaring people off," Matt coolly informed him as he tapped away on his game. His goggled eyes looked up and he rose an eyebrow at the strange expression on Near's face. "Er, is that supposed to be a happy smile or a homicidal smile?"

"My apologies. I'm merely excited."

"Well, be excited in a less creepy way," Matt commanded softly. He hated giving out orders, but that look was a little more than strange. It was downright eerie. Poor kid didn't know how to express himself properly.

"Help me adjust my expression into something more suitable," Near ordered. He wanted to look perfect for Mello when he told him.

Matt shook his head at the strange request, but he was already used to such things. "First off, you're eyes don't need to be so fucking wide." Setting down his game, Matt scooted closer to the other boy and gave him pointers on how to look happy and excited without overdoing it. He couldn't help but think that Mello had a unique way of showing his emotions. Every expression that he made seemed so perfect, and yet so strange. His wide eyes always got wider and he would twist his mouth in all kinds of ways. It was so…cute. Ugh, he hated it when all those weird thoughts would come into his head. More and more often he thought of how nice it would be to touch Mello in more intimate ways, and that was scaring him. It had to be puberty.

"Matt, Wammy's House has never taken a stand on relationships between orphans, correct?"

"Er, yeah, I guess." Glancing up at the wooden ceiling, Matt tried to think of any time the orphanage spoke for or against relationships between the kids. "Yeah, I can't think of any."

"And you personally don't have anything against relationships between people of the same gender, correct?"

Matt blushed like crazy, wondering where this conversation was going. "Um, well, you just can't go asking questions like that," he stumbled. Near scooted closer, his face drawing nearer so that he could look into those hidden eyes.

"You're my friend, so why can't I ask this question?" Near whispered. He wanted to be sure that he had Matt's support when he decided to formally ask Mello out, and even if Matt was against it, he wanted to be prepared. Nothing was going to stop him from pursuing his blond angel, nothing.

_[Obsession]_

Mello paused in front of the door to the play room to catch his breath. A small part of him was begging for this to all be some misunderstanding. Maybe, maybe Near just happened to do really good as a fluke, or maybe he himself had just slacked off a little too much. There just couldn't be any way that Near was trying to steal everything away from him, it was just…it just couldn't be. Mello knew that he was emotional and over-the-top, so he tried his damnest to calm down.

"_I'll just talk to him. Yeah, we'll just _talk _and sort this out."_

"W-well, Near, I guess that th-there isn't _really _a problem for two guys to d-d-date."

Mello's ears perked up and he leaned against the door to hear the conversation. Near sighed in relief. "Well, I appreciate that Matt. I mean, it would be disconcerting if you were opposed to my interest."

"Y-you're interest?" Matt squeaked as he backed away a little. Was Near hitting on him?

Those grey eyes looked up into his friend's and they had never looked so alive before; it was breathtaking. "You see," he whispered huskily, "I think that I've fallen in love."

"With who?" Matt asked with wide eyes. He had no idea how to react if Near said it was him.

"It's-"

Before Near had the chance to finish his sentence, the door swung open harshly, crashing loudly into the wall behind it. Both Matt and Near jumped up and looked at the enraged blond. Tears were welling in his eyes and his mouth was twisted into a mixture of a scowl and a grimace. "Don't you dare!" he screeched, a tear finally slipping down.

Gaping wordlessly, Matt watched in horror as the scene unfolded before him. At first, Near had looked scared, but all emotion had quickly vanished. "Dare what, Mello? What's wrong?"

"You're what's wrong, you stupid shit! I thought we were friends, I trusted you, and this?!"

"Please, let's be reasonable," Near begged. Something was terribly wrong.

"No, you just fucking listen to me!" Even more tears were streaking down that wonderful face, staining the flawless skin. "Matt is mine, he promised! You can't have him, you ungrateful waster!"

"Matt?" Near asked in confusion. Matt wasn't the one that he wanted the one that he lov-

"Yes, _my _Matt! And I hate you, I just fucking hate you! How long did you study behind my back, how long did you laugh at me while you planned to screw me over?"

"I-I didn't," Near whispered as he looked at the ground. His chest was aching so badly.

"And now you have the gall to lie to me?!"

"Mello?!" Matt screeched in horror as his friend lunged at the crippled boy and pulled him up by the front of his pajama shirt.

"I hate you," Mello hissed venomously as he posed one hand back, ready to punch Near's pristine face. "I hate you so bloody much."

Near went limp before the hit even touched him and he fell to the floor when Matt jumped in and yanked the lithe blond away. Curses were screamed out incoherently, and the youngest of them just sat there on the floor like a broken toy. He was no longer wanted, and if hurt far more than any of the abuse he had ever taken. A nanny came in, Matt screamed, Mello screamed, Mello hit Matt, Matt fell. A small hand snuck up to tug on an ivory lock of hair and the boy forced all of the emotions that he had been nurturing down into a small box in the center of his heart.

~_~_~_~_~_

"L, I have news for you," Watari announced as he walked in with a tray of sugar-free candy. It was his newest creation, and the latest attempt to salvage the health and life of his young charge.

Twenty different televisions surrounded the young man and each was programmed to switch channels every five seconds on a continuous loop. The said man was seated on a swivel chair, and he was spinning himself around in a very juvenile manner. "Yes?" he responded as his bare foot tapped the floor again to force the seat into another few rotations.

Setting the sweets on a foldable stand, Watari raised an eyebrow as he watched L spinning around. "Firstly, Near has just become your number one successor, and this leads to the second piece of information."

"Let me guess; Mello didn't take that well?"

"Correct. He and Mello had a fallout, and it was ugly."

"What do you want me to do about it?" L asked as he paused his spinning to grab a treat. As soon as the candy was in his mouth, he spat it up on the floor.

"I think it would be good for you to talk to Mello and Near and get them to reconcile. If they were working together, they could really help you."

Staring sadly at the moist treat on the floor, L shrugged. "I'm not their caretaker. Make Roger do that. And if you don't mind, I would like some real candy, not this imposter."

"L, the both of them hear from Roger all the time; if you were to step in and help resolve this situation for them, then the chances are that they will come to adore you even more and they will work even harder to become you."

"I don't mean to point the obvious," L replied curtly as he toed the nasty food away, "but I don't _need_ anyone's help, most of all their help. I can solve my cases just fine without them. On top of that, I-"

Quillsh straightened up as he watched L slowly swivel his chair to the television labeled "13". Those bony fingers lifted up the remote control and he flipped back to the news show that had been showing a few seconds ago.

"Yes, this is astounding Jeremy. The _Golden Obelisk_ a highly acclaimed painting by an upstart artist, Lincoln Levins, has been stolen last night. There are no traces of it or the person who had taken the work of art and the authorities are utterly baffled."

The scene shifted from the attractive news reporter to a middle-aged cop. "Yes, this is all very unsettling. There were security guards everywhere, cameras, and even more sophisticated protection and yet the thief got away without anyone realizing it. It's incredible."

"The police are going on the only clue that they have," the reporter continued. "There was a plain sticky note attached to the spot where that fabulous painting once rested. On it was written this message, 'A message to the moon, I am the brilliant sun. Will you attempt to eclipse me?'"

"Watari, I want a recording of this," L commanded. "And I need all the information available for this case."

"L?"

Those dark eyes remained wide and the abused thumb was pressed against his soft lips. "It's Succubus. She's back."

There was a moment of silence as Watari stared at the scrawny man. He was still such a child, in the old man's eyes. "L…Lawliet, what are you going to do?" he asked softly, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

Smiling, L looked back up at the stiff gentleman. "I don't know yet, Quillsh. After all, she's my mother."

* * *

**Author's Notes: (1) twee means nauseatingly cute. And hurray for another twist to the plot! I can guarantee that no one saw that coming. :) Also, just wondering if anyone noticed that the painting was by a guy with the initials LL, like L Lawliet. That was intentional. **


	19. Hurricane

**Wow, I was in the middle of writing this when the news announced that Michael Jackson had died. He was 50 years old and it seems like he fell into a coma after suffering a heart attack; not long after, he died. **

**

* * *

**In the privacy of his own room, Quillsh Wammy sipped on his cup of Earl Grey and closed his eyes. He had never thought that L's mother would show up again, and it disturbed him like nothing else. That woman was…well, she was definitely not someone that he ever wanted L to have contact with again, but this time he had to sit back and just let L do whatever he wanted to. Lawliet was not a child, although he acted like one, and something of such a delicate nature was not something that he could just jump into.

Although…he really did have every right to intervene. Unbeknownst to everyone except maybe Roger, he was a lot more involved than one would think. He had known the Succubus, or rather, Katrina Lawliet, before her son was even born.

~_~_~_~_~_

_/Over twenty years ago…/_

"Quillsh! Darling, are you busy?"

Looking up from his draft paper, the well-formed gentleman leaned back in his chair and stretched out his back. "Katrina? Can I help you with something?"

A head popped around the corner and the gorgeous woman batted her eyes at him. "Working again? I was hoping that we could go out for a picnic." Coral lips curved upward in a sensual smile and midnight black hair draped over her shoulders, drawing attention to her voluptuous breasts. The young lady was absolutely stunning and the way she waggled her eyebrows at him was just too much. A smile spread across the middle-aged man's face and he set his pencil down. "Well, I suppose a little break wouldn't be bad."

"Great," Katrina replied happily, "I've got things ready to go!"

"Such a willful woman," Quillsh chuckled as he stood up. "One day I will be able to stand up to you."

"Keep dreaming," she teased before turning around with a flourish and rushing off to put on a fitting outfit.

Since his lovely lady was primping herself up, the already rich Quillsh Wammy decided to look himself over in the mirror. His stunning chestnut eyes were sparkling mischievously behind his spectacles and his dark hair had a few wisps of white on the sides. The suit he was wearing flattered his fit form and he carried himself confidently. Yes, he was a catch, if he dared say so himself. A perfect match for his Katrina.

Still smiling to himself, Quillsh headed to his car first. A picnic basket was placed neatly besides the front door along with a soft blanket, so he picked the items up and took them to the car. Just as he was closing the trunk of his vehicle, he spotted his friend from the corner of his eye. Oh my, he didn't look very pleasant at all.

"Quillsh!" Roger called out angrily as he waved a bunch of papers around. "I just got a call from the military saying that you have _once again_ postponed your submission for an improved tank! What the bloody hell is wrong with you? This is the _third_ time you've asked for an extension! Why, if you weren't so bloody famous-"

"Darling, is Roger getting his knickers up in a bunch?" Katrina called out from the doorway. Quillsh looked back to drink up the look of his exotic lover. A simple brown skirt that ended just above her pale smooth knees teased the imagination and a plaid wool jacket that flattered her curves was sure to keep her warm on such a crisp spring day. Smart leather gloves that came up to the elbow also made sure that she would remain warm and dry.

"Katrina, you need to leave Quillsh alone for a good damn week! He has work to finish!"

"Friend, I'm not getting any younger," Quillsh snorted as he elbowed his best friend none too gently. "Besides, she makes sure that I don't overdo it."

"Quillsh, she's a tart," Roger hissed. "I'm telling you that she is up to no good!"

At this, the older man frowned and the lines around his eyes hardened, only sharpening his gaze. "Roger, I will not have you insult her like that," he whispered harshly. "She has been with me for nearly two-and-a-half years, and never once has she asked me for anything more than my time."

"That doesn't mean anything," Roger shot back just as intently. "Do you even realize how far some people would go to get your secrets? She could just be biding her time until you let your guard down."

"We've had this discussion before, Roger," Quillsh sighed wearily, glancing back at Katrina. She was watching the two of them bicker with a soft grin. "Look at her, really look at her. It's true that she's a lot younger than me, but that's never made her uncomfortable or think twice about anything regarding us. Katrina's very intelligent, she's beautiful, and she's compassionate."

Roger's face fell a little. "Y-you're going to ask her to marry you, aren't you?"

"Why shouldn't I? I've lived the past 46 years of my life as a bachelor, and I think I've finally found someone with whom I can spend the rest of my days. Is that so hard for you to accept, old friend?"

The younger man did look a bit guilty, but he was stubborn if anything. "If she were any other woman, it'd be brilliant."

"Alright, are you two ninnies finished talking about me?" Katrina teased as she approached them. "Quillsh and I need to head off before it gets too dark and cold." Taking a hold of her lover's arm, she smiled wickedly at Roger and gave him a little wink.

~_~_~_~_~_

In the silence of their shared bedroom, Katrina stirred. Looking over at her sleeping lover, a frown tugged at her moist lips. Silently, she slipped out of the king sized bed and grabbed her robe with her forefinger and her thumb; it was a habit that she had grown up with and Quillsh teased her about it. Still, she hated things touching her palms and would pick things up as if they contained the plague unless she was wearing gloves. It wasn't so bad if she did that. Once she was in the bathroom, Katrina leaned against the tiled wall and closed her eyes.

"_This has gone on long enough." _Peeking open, she looked at her miserable reflection. _"That damned Roger is worming his way into Quillsh's mind and if I wait much longer, it will be too late."_

Straightening up, Katrina let her loose robe fall to the cold floor. How often had she had to use her exotic beauty to get things? Her Asian blood gave her delicate slanted eyes and pitch black hair while her Russian blood gave her plump and firm breasts, a lithe ivory body, and a bad attitude. She was a succubus that would use her body to take things from ignorant wealthy men, but looking at herself now, she was disgusted. Her pale stomach and thighs had a little more curve to them and even her breasts seemed to sag a little more than usual. Dark circles painted under her eyes and her stuffed nose was a slight red from the constant abuse of tissue paper. Her stomach churned unhappily and she kneeled in front of the toilet to heave. It brought tears to her eyes; how could she be so sick and repulsive? Even if Roger didn't get Quillsh to dump her, surely he would kick her out himself if she continued to look this way.

"_I really have no choice. I've become too damn comfortable here with this man and now look at me. Yes, by the end of the week, I'll have what I came here for."_

"Katrina?" a deep sleepy voice called from the other side of the door.

Wiping her mouth, she looked up at the ornate door. "It's ok, Quillsh," she replied weakly. "I think that I'm coming down with something, that's all."

"Well, ok," he replied haltingly. "Should I call for a doctor?"

"No, no, I'll be fine."

"Call me if you need anything, ok?"

She didn't need to reply. Instead, Katrina proceeded to throw up everything that remained in her stomach.

~_~_~_~_~_

It had taken her two days to gather up the willpower to finally make her move. While Quillsh was out to play some cricket (wasn't he afraid of breaking something?), she broke into his study and proceeded to steal all of his invention designs. There were a few Russian officials who would pay handsomely for some of the weapon designs and a few Americans who were willing to pay her enough to retire for a few of the more sensitive designs. After hitting a jackpot like Quillsh Wammy, she could choose to live a comfortable life and never have to steal again.

Once the designs were taken, Katrina packed the few belongings that she had brought with her. She left all of the things that her lover had bought her: jewelry, clothing, paintings, everything. Finally, the only left for her to do was to write a letter.

_ **Dear Quillsh Wammy,**_

**_ Hello my dearest lover. I suppose that you are wondering what is going on, _**

**_ and since I have been a guest of your hospitality I feel obliged to give an _**

**_ explanation for my actions. Around the world, I am not known at Katrina _**

**_ Lebedev, but rather as Succubus. Please do not take this personal; I would_**

**_ have done the same to anyone else. Thank you for taking care of me, and I_**

**_ hope that we will never meet again. _**

**_ With all my love,_**

**_ Succubus_**

The handwritten letter was placed on top of the soft covers of the bed that the two of them had shared for nearly two and a half years. Even though she had decided to end their relationship and to backstab him, Katrina could not deny to herself that she would feel sad. There had been real affection between the two of them, and she had felt that she had almost fallen in love with the man. It was best to end it now; after all, he was a proper British gentleman and his marriage to someone like her would never be allowed. Quillsh was barely allowed the privilege of keeping her as his lover. No, it would never be a happy ending for the two of them and even if they were to marry, she was sure that she could never be happy.

During the 21 years of her life, Katrina had been thrown out into the world to survive, and she cherished the freedom. She could live in Paris, France one weekend and then New York City, New York the next week if she chose to, and she could continue to play around with a bunch of stupid men. They would all lust after her, but none of them would be able to control her and that's exactly how she wanted to keep it. How foolish of her to almost give that up for this man.

Glancing back at the mansion that she had been living in for the best few years of her life, Katrina waved goodbye and blew one last kiss.

Predictably, Roger had an utter fit as soon as Katrina's betrayal became apparent. As he bustled around calling the police and different private detectives, his friend remained on the bed reading the handwritten letter. The wicked scent of his lover still dusted the pages and the imprint of her lips glimmered wetly next to her signature.

"By the Queen, I told you!" Roger cried as he entered the room. "But no, you _never_ listen to me! You just have to take the dangerous path, you just have to get burned!"

"I am perfectly capable of hearing you without all that shouting," Quillsh chuckled as he looked up. There were no tears as one might expect, but there was something there in his eyes, something that was almost frightening. "I've been duped, my old friend, and I have to admit that I was in the wrong this time. However, I don't plan on just sitting around."

Roger stepped back and looked at his friend warily. "Quillsh, what are you thinking?" he asked in concern.

"I am going to bloody well catch that damned woman," the older man replied sternly.

~_~_~_~_~_

"That damn old man!" Katrina hissed as she pushed up her oversized sunglasses. Her long thick hair had been chopped away into a bob and instead of wearing her usual sultry attire, a long loose jacket covered the body underneath. "Why the hell did I go after him again?"

Police sirens sounded out behind her as the hotel that she had been staying in was raided. Posters with a sketch of her hung on poles and the sides of different buildings with a large WANTED written below it. Waving down a taxi, the pissed off woman threw her bag inside before sliding across the seat.

"À l'aéroport," she commanded before clutching her rounded stomach. The pain shooting through her spine only made her even more irritable.

It had only taken Quillsh two days after she had stolen his precious invention plans to get on her trail. Wanted posters were everywhere, all European police were on alert and even numerous private detectives were one step behind her. Cursing him, Katrina had begun to run from the authority; it had been four months already and those damnable police were still after her. Only one extremely rich and stubborn man could be behind such a persistent headhunt, and her newest condition didn't help the situation at all.

Once at the airport, she decided that going to the land of her ancestors, Japan, would do her some good. That British bastard would have a little more trouble dealing with a whole different culture and a different language. He would find that the Asians wouldn't take too kindly to some uppity Britain ordering them around. Hopefully, she would permanently lose him.

However, Quillsh was a stubborn man and he refused to let her get away. Katrina had screwed him over in a way that he had never been screwed over and he took it very personal. There had never been a woman who had ever compared to him in intelligence or drive and he had been completely ready to take her as his wife. Using a phrase like a "broken heart" was so cliché but in this case it was so tempting to use, and yet, Quillsh didn't let it get to that. She betrayed his trust and stole important documents and he would be damned if she got away with it. Not even Japan would stand in the way of his getting even.

_/October 31, 1979/_

Near unbearable pain, shook Katrina's frame as she curled up on her bed as best as she could. Another kick to her abused organs let her know that her unborn child was every bit as uncomfortable as she was. "Could you try not to kill me?" she whispered to her swollen stomach. "I really need some sleep."

Not surprisingly, there wasn't a reply. Except for another firm kick.

Takeout food was strewn about the modest apartment and the television was blaring from across the room. It was Halloween, and there was a special playing on the American tradition. Terribly grinning pumpkins laughed from the screen and ghouls howled unhappily. What a ghastly thing to have a holiday for. Who would want to celebrate the entrance of evil beings and spirits into the real world?

Sweat dripped down her face and chest, even clinging to her thighs. The room was stifling hot. Groaning unhappily, Katrina felt the need to use the restroom yet again. However, this time she couldn't get up. Dizziness washed over her and bile threatened to come up. Tremors shook her body as the pain surged once more, this time far more intense. A few tears slipped down her soft red cheeks.

"It'll pass," she whispered to herself. "I-it's just a fever, a-and maybe a stomach flu. I am _not_ having a baby now, he's due in a few weeks." The words were repeated over and over like a religious mantra, as if her very words could change the flow of nature.

As if her prayer was answered, the pain seemed to fade away, and her mind seemed to clear up. Tokyo's lights danced across the white walls and the smell of burnt rice assaulted her olfactory glands. It was just another regular night. Sitting up, she brushed back her disheveled hair with a sweaty palm. Looking down at the tangled sheets, all thought disappeared and only horror remained.

"Trick or treat!" the television screamed, drowning out her gasps and groans.

Blood soaked all the sheets along with her own sweat and amniotic fluid. Contractions wracked her body, and fear gripped her tightly. What if she bled to death here? Was something wrong with the baby? What if Quillsh and his damned police busted in now, as she howled in agony? It was too much, and she sobbed. She, Katrina Lawliet, cried because she had no one to help her, no one to protect her.

Looking up at the tiled ceiling, the twenty-one-year-old realized that she must have blacked out. Some game show was playing on the television and she had somehow made it into the threshold of the bathroom. Blood was everywhere and it was still seeping from between her thighs. The blood loss made her feel faint, but she realized that she must have awoken for a reason. Another look at the mess between her spread legs revealed that something was moving.

"Oh hell no," she whispered, feeling ready to start crying all over again.

A small unhappy cry came from the filthy baby lying on the floor, and it only made his mother cry harder. The gravity of the situation was all too clear as she lifted up the slick child and held him to her heaving bosom.

"What the fuck am I going to do with you?!" she screamed. "I'm having a hard enough time hiding from that damned old man and now I've got you! Why, why?!!" The small mouth enclosed over the tender nipple of her swollen breast and Katrina was too distraught to feel anything else.

Not knowing what else to do, the young mother called up an old acquaintance from one of the city's premier strip club. Youka already had three children, so surely she would be able to let her know what had to be done. It only took said friend twenty minutes to get to the apartment and when she did, she looked ready to throw up.

"Holy fuck, Katrina!"

"Yeah, yeah," the younger woman grumbled as she rocked her baby slowly. "Just help me clean up and get whatever the heck is in his belly button out."

"Uh, dear, that's an umbilical cord."

"Like I give a damn? Whatever."

The small Asian woman dropped her purse on the couch and proceeded to help Katrina and her newborn to clean up. The umbilical cord was cut the mother's bleeding was stopped.

"Katrina, we're gonna have to take him to the hospital you know," Youka stated as she helped the sickly woman get dressed. "And you need to be checked up as well."

"I can't do that," Katrina retorted. "I'm kind of running from some rich ass guy. He wasn't too happy after I stole his precious inventions."

"You're an idiot."

"Look, I don't need you here to give me a stern lecturing, Youka."

"Well, just because I've had kids doesn't mean I'm a fucking doctor! I've had kids in a hospital, babe, and that's where you need to get your ass. If the kid gets sick he could die, and you might even need a blood transfusion! You might drop dead without a warning and then the kid would be left alone to starve. How would you feel then?"

Katrina looked down at her sleeping newborn. His skin was almost translucent and fine black hair stuck straight up in an awkward pattern. If she did die, then what the hell should she worry about? Still, an unusual feeling was bubbling up in her chest. It was something she had never felt in her entire life and it almost brought tears to her eyes. This little thing lying naked on the couch before her was _her_ son, _her_ child. He had been inside her body for nearly nine whole months; they had shared meals, baths, and even some alcoholic beverages together.

"I-"

"Come on, Katrina, you look like you've finally fallen in love with the kid. Let's give him a long happy life with his mother."

~_~_~_~_~_

"Pthooo."

"Young man, you are a royal pain in the ass."

Large dark eyes looked up at the tall curvy form of his mother. A smile of recognition formed on the child's face as he spat out some more food. Sighing, Katrina slid to the floor next to her son and patted his head gently. He cooed in appreciation at the attention before deciding that he was going to use her skirt as a napkin.

"Mwah."

After watching her four-month-old attempt to eat her skirt, she lifted him up and held him up to her chest. He seemed to settle down once he could hear her heartbeat; a thumb made its way to his soft round mouth and his pale fingers tangled themselves in his mother's long black locks.

"You know, it's pretty strange. I can touch you with my palms and it doesn't bother me at all. If your mama touches other things, she can't let it touch her palm. See, you must be special." Her baby didn't reply but he did glance at her as if he understood. "Aww, look at you. Mama loves you!" she cried happily and she snuggled against his neck making him giggle.

There was a knock on the door, and suddenly, the whole mood changed. The baby got quiet and watched as his mother went to the door slowly. She set him down on the sofa and peeked into the peephole. After a quick pause, she walked back just as silently and began packing their few belongings. Besides her suitcase, Katrina now had a giant diaper bag to haul around along with an ever-growing boy. Outrunning Quillsh was becoming impossible with each passing day and it looked like her daily prayers of him giving up weren't going to be answered.

"Don't worry," she whispered to her child as she pulled him up on her hip, "Mama loves you, L."

"Mwahmha," he tried to repeat. "Mwamwa."

"Shhh, be a good boy."

As Katrina and her son spent another night in the backseat of a stolen car, the young mother once again contemplated their situation. Who was she kidding? How did she plan on raising a child while she was on the run from a bitter genius? The only way to get that bastard off her back was if she went underground, and how the hell could she raise a kid in that kind of situation? Right now, she could barely feed them since most of her money was going to all kinds of transportation. She had to resort to breastfeeding almost exclusively, except for a jar of baby food or two and she had even ended up prostituting in a few cities just to feed herself. It was pathetic.

"What do you think?" she asked her baby. He was busy trying to lift up a diaper with his forefinger and his thumb. "Do you think that Quillsh will take me back if I gave up? How about if I said I was sorry?" L huffed unhappily when the diaper fell from his shaky grip and gave out a little whine. "Don't worry, L, your mama plans to take care of you."

~_~_~_~_~_

In the dark room of a mansion in Ireland, Katrina Lawliet cried silently. She was sitting next to her baby as he slept on the floor. His newly cut hair stuck out in every direction as usual and saliva ran down his cheek and to the floor as he unconsciously sucked on his thumb.

"Oh, baby, precious baby." No matter how hard she tried, the tears wouldn't stop. "I'm so sorry. Mama doesn't mean to miss your birthday, but she'll make it up to you when she gets you back." Her trembling hand stroked the child's back. "Be strong, though. When Quillsh gives up, I'll come back and get you."

While her newest lover slept soundly in their bed, Katrina prepared for her escape. She had been running from that bastard for over a year and she had always been on the verge of being caught because she was carrying around a child with her. She couldn't ignore it if L got sick, she couldn't let him go without food for a few days, and she had to keep him clean or he could get terribly sick. Diapers needed to be bought, he needed clothes every other week, and he needed constant attention. There was no way that she could continue to split her attention between her child and running for her life. Still, leaving her only child wasn't as easy as it was to leave Quillsh. She could not deny this love, this maternal instinct that tore her apart for just thinking of leaving L.

"Don't worry; I'm sure that Quillsh is decent enough to put you in a nice orphanage. Once I get out of danger, I'll find you and take you back. See? It won't be that bad. We'll be back together in no time."

As soon as the clock hit four a.m., the child's eyes slid open. A beautiful smile curled on his lips and he held out his hands. "Up," he commanded.

"Yes, up." She picked him up and gave him a tight squeeze. "Let's get you all dolled up for Quillsh."

Approximately three and a half hours later, a loud knock on the front door echoed throughout the whole house. A tall blond man stumbled out of his four-poster bed and shuffled to the large oak door. "Shut up!" he yelled out to the door. "I'm coming!"

As soon as he opened the door, a police officer held out a warrant. "Sir, please move aside. We're here for a young woman."

The young man gaped at the officer and stepped aside. "W-wait, what's going on? What do you want with Katrina?"

"Where is she, sir?" another officer asked as several police officers went into the building with their guns drawn.

"Uh, I d-don't know. M-maybe with her k-kid."

"A child?" an imposing man asked. He was tall and dressed in a suit with a drench coat over it. His spectacles seemed to focus his intense glare and it made the younger man gulp.

"Y-yeah. He stays in the last room d-down the hall."

Quillsh brushed past the man and ran into the room described by the man. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. Katrina had a child? How old? He didn't remember her mentioning anything about a child. Swinging the door open, Quillsh froze in shock. Sitting in the middle of the room was a small child, who didn't even look a year old. A giant red gift bow was tied into his messy black hair and he was wearing nothing but his diapers and a plain white t-shirt that read "Hello, my name is L Lawliet" on the front. Dark eyes glanced up at the stranger and L tilted his head. He stretched out his hand.

"Cookie?"

~_~_~_~_~_

And that was the beginning of a long and twisted road that led to the present day. Quillsh ran a hand through his white hair and sighed unhappily. He had fallen in love with that little child, a boy with impossibly dark and intelligent eyes, snow white skin, and that chubby hand which asked for a sweet treat. L, who had grown up so quickly, who had become the smartest being on the planet, who still held out a hand for his sugar.

"Watari?" The older man looked up from his cold cup of tea to see the slouching figure before him.

"Yes?"

"I've made a decision."

"Well then, let's hear it."


	20. Brilliance

**Hurray, another chapter! Hopefully, my updates won't be too far between, but this weekend will be a little rough, so please be patient with me. I'm actually half-asleep while I do this, so if there are any mistakes, let me know. Thanks to everyone who's been supporting me, and I hope to continue to please you guys.  
**

* * *

"I've made a decision."

"Well then, let's hear it."

"No need to sound so excited," L deadpanned as he leaned a little to scratch his knee with his bare foot.

"L," Quillsh said in a warning tone. Thinking back on those old days brought back all that frustration; he had never been able to catch her, and partly it was L's fault. How could he focus on catching that woman when he was so busy trying to raise a child, his child.

"I've decided to take up my mother's challenge," he announce as if it wasn't big news. "And this time, I'll be taking her down as L."

"Do you think you can put her away this time?

Some kind of emotion flashed through those endless eyes, but too quickly it was gone again. "Watari, I did catch her the last time," he stated firmly.

"Yes, you did Deneuve, but then you let her escape." Yes, he couldn't hide the bitterness that permeated his voice. Katrina did bring his child into the world, the greatest joy he had ever experienced, but she had brought him a torrent of heartache and he couldn't forgive something like that. And that selfish woman didn't even have the decency to hurt only him; she had even deeply wounded her son.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," L snapped back. Only his voice let his irritation show through to the older man.

Back when he was sixteen, L met his mother again, for the first time since he was a baby. She had issued a similar challenge, but she had signed her name in order to make sure that Quillsh would come after her. Sure enough, Katrina revealed herself as the mother L never knew that he had, and it had compromised the case. L, under the name of Deneuve, succeeded in capturing the elusive thief, but almost immediately organized a series of mishaps that allowed her to escape. That time, the only contact between the mother and her child was through the letters that she would leave to taunt him. He had never come face to face with her, and Quillsh was worried that L would try to force a meeting with that woman if he was given this second shot.

"Lawliet, this is not a good idea. She will only try to goad you again, and if you go into this case as L, then you must not lose to her. If she does get away, it will forever taint your reputation! You will no longer have a flawless record!"

"Tell me, Watari, is my _record_ the only thing you care about?"

The question shocked the older man. He had spent nearly twenty two years with this boy, changing diapers, getting thrown up on, dealing with strange behavior, and other things, yet he never complained. Would he do that if he didn't care? "Don't be foolish; you know that isn't the truth."

"I am not asking for your opinion on this matter," L stated firmly. "I will catch the Succubus as L; any questions?"

Watari sighed as he rubbed his temples. "How do you know that it's really her?"

"The moon," he mumbled, "she used to call me 'Luna', her little moon. She did that because I would always follow her around. She was the greater light, and I was the lesser, that's all. Besides, she went out of her way to pick an artist with the initials, LL, just like mine."

Chewing on his thumb, L had a faraway look on his face and Quillsh watched intently. How could L remember something like that from the short time he spent with his mother? He was a baby and didn't even have the brain cells to remember such things…or did he? Was that the secret of his incredible intelligence? Was his brain cell growing at an accelerated pace? Perhaps the neurons in his brain were not only multiplying faster than any other humans, but maybe they were also far more numerous. Letting himself get lost in thought, Quillsh didn't notice as L slowly shuffled his way out of the room.

~_~_~_~_~_

"_I want Mama!" the little child screamed for the thousandth time that night. He refused to be comforted and he wailed for his mother._

"_You won't be able to see her anymore, L. Tch, what was that damned woman thinking, calling her child 'L' the letter. That's such a ridiculous name."_

"_Willsh is stupid!" L retorted, mispronouncing the older man's name. Quillsh wondered how old the kid actually was. "Mama!!" he screeched, making the British gentleman clench his ears in pain. "Mama!"_

_He would never forget those large tears that rolled down the boy's round cheeks and the way that he held out his hands to the door as if expecting her to walk through at any moment and rescue him. Of course, that never happened. However, he was able to bring in Katrina's latest boyfriend, someone that L was familiar with. Gentry Willshire had been reluctant to come in to settle down the boy, but the promise of a sound amount of money was able to convince him. Sure enough, the young child stumbled into his arms and cried silently. It didn't take long before reality set in and L realized that his mother was never going to come and get him. Soon afterwards, they were able to let Gentry get back to his life. The young billionaire never came back to search for the boy._

~_~_~_~_~_

A painful poke to his ribs abruptly tore Watari from the world of dreams and dragged him back to reality. Looking around in alarm, he sighed when he spotted L standing next to him. His scrawny charge was the only person who had managed to learn to sneak up on him. "Yes?" he yawned, wondering what L wanted at two in the morning. "If it's food, get it yourself."

"I've taken the liberty of packing out things," L informed him, pointing to an overly bulbous bag with a pair of dress socks sticking out. "We need to leave now."

"Leave? Where are we going?"

"Wammy's House," L replied, absentmindedly. His thumb was already raw, and beads of blood were welling up before those pristine teeth scraped against them. How did he manage to keep such perfect teeth with such an unhealthy diet?

"As you wish," the elderly man sighed. Not being given a chance to even put some clothes on, L hurried his caretaker out of their hotel. In no time at all they were on L's private jet, headed for home.

"Since we're going to Wammy's House," Watari started as he stirred his Earl Grey, "why don't you try fixing that Mello and Near thing?"

"That's none of my concern," L muttered as he looked through some files. Each page was carelessly held in a pair of fingers, and once he was through, he haphazardly threw them over his shoulder. "The successors are your pet project, and I don't want to waste my time with them."

"You were far more affectionate towards the Letters," Watari mumbled. "Why was that? They were far more inferior to this new generation, so why? Besides, didn't you specifically request for Near?"

Sighing, L dropped the papers on the table in front of him and he turned to face his caretaker. "I'm really not that interested in a successor, Watari. Why should I be? Once I'm dead, I don't really care what happens. I'll have done my duty in keeping the justice, and that should be enough. And while I did request for Near to be brought to Wammy's House, it was merely because we are quite similar and he caught my interest. I am not interested in coddling those brats."

"You were once a brat, L. As a matter of fact, you still are one." L just munched on an animal cracker. "Regardless, I still want you to be involved. At least pretend to be interested."

"I send them gifts all the time, isn't that enough?"

"Of course not. Perhaps you can address all of the children over the internet in the future, make them feel that you are more than a fancy Letter, more than just something on paper."

"Hn." Once again, the papers in the files were submitted to his cruel and unusual torture. "Once we get to Wammy's House, I'm going to need every bit of information we have on the Succubus. This time she won't be so easy to catch."

What a joke, as if the last time was easy. "Anything else you request?"

"Yes, I want Wedy called in for this."

"Of course."

~_~_~_~_~_

"_You cannot be the successor. You are soft and warm, you have feeling, you are alive! You can never let yourself be drawn into that harshness, you cannot become like everyone else!"_

B's strange words were running through Mello's head as he tried to focus on the book in front of him; Nietzsche was a difficult bastard to read. Why didn't B think he could be the successor? Was it because he was always so emotional? Following that line of reasoning, Near would be the perfect successor. He seemed to lack all kinds of emotions, and he was cold and hard. The only softness he had seen was their more intimate moments like that time they kissed for ten minutes behind a bookshelf in the library. Near had been clutching the edge of his shirt so tightly that it wrinkled. His working mouth was far more gentle than anything else he every showed.

A groan broke Mello's concentration. Looking up, he saw Matt arch his back, obviously suffering from a nightmare. The sheets were all tangled around his body and sweat rolled down his skin. His face contorted into a strange expression and he whimpered before going limp. Sighing in frustration, Mello stood up and went to check on his best friend. Poking the brunette, Mello tried to ignore the black eye he had given Matt only a few days ago. "Wake up."

Supernatural blue eyes peeked from behind the sweaty eyelids and stared at Mello for a few seconds before a look of terror flashed through them. Matt pulled his sheets closer to himself and gaped at Mello. "W-what?!" he screamed defensively.

The blond tilted his head in confusion. Matt sure had gotten a lot jumpier lately, and it not only confused him, but it also pissed him off. "What the hell, Matt?! I just came to check up on you and you're being a righteous bastard!"

Panic flared through Matt's mind; he had really screwed up, but what was he supposed to do? That was no nightmare he had just suffered from, it was the most humiliating wet dream, and if Mello found out he would…hell, Matt didn't even _want_ to know what his best friend would do if he found out. The slick liquid between his thighs made him feel really sick and dirty, like he was some pervert. "I-I'm not feeling good, Mels," he mumbled as he kept his filthy sheets close to himself. "I need a shower, or something."

Looking confused, Mello just stepped back and allowed his friend to get up from the bed, sheets and all. "I'll grab some clothes for you then," he offered as he watched Matt scoot out of the room in a really strange way.

Matt didn't even have the courage to reply; he just ran to the bathroom down the hall as fast as possible. It was three in the morning, so surely no one would be using it. Thankfully, it was dark and he ran in and stripped down in record time. Turning on the water to scalding hot, Matt forced himself to stay under the punishing spray as the semen swirled down the drain with the steaming water. Panting under the exertion of submitting himself to the self-chastisement, Matt yanked on his wet hair in frustration. Why were such weird things happening to him? It was horrible, _he_ was horrible and disgusting. How many other kids out there had strange dreams about their best friends?

"Oh, hell," he groaned as he raked his fingers down his red tender arms. "Please not now," he whispered, but it was fruitless. The images from his dream were still vivid and they made his heart ache.

_/Mello sprawled on the bed completely naked, groaning in a sultry manner/_

"Stop it."

_/"Make me a woman, Mattie," he begged and it had always been so damn hard to deny him anything./_

"I c-can't, just stop it!"

_/Porno music played in the background as he kissed one pale bare foot. Mello had never looked so good, so delicious and he could barely contain it./_

"God, just make it stop!" he shrieked as he scratched at his delicate eyelids, trying to shut out those images, that voice, everything.

"Mattie, are you ok?" Mello called out worriedly.

"I'm fine!" he spat out as he turned up the heat and gritted his teeth in pain.

"Um, ok. I'm putting your clothes down, ok?"

Matt didn't bother to reply; he just fell to his knees and struggled to keep his mind under control. Each breath echoed loudly against the moist tiles and pinkish blood swirled down with the water. The disgusting flesh between his thighs was swollen and begging for attention. Only one sob slipped past his pursed lips.

Confused with his friend, Mello decided to study even harder. People were acting so strange, they weren't consistent. At least books were consistent; the words printed on that paper would be the same tomorrow as they had been yesterday and today. The words wouldn't shift, wouldn't elude him. They were always there, the same. Why were people so confusing?

Only a few rooms down, Near wondered the same thing. After Mello's outburst, things had changed between the three of them. Mello refused to speak to him, to associate with him, or even to look at him, and Matt, being the follower that he was, just sat back and let the chaos happen. He just buried himself further into his numerous games. White hair was curled around a forefinger as Near stared up at the ceiling. All of life's colors seemed to have vanished along with Mello and it hurt him. How could such a misunderstanding happen? He didn't love Matt and he had no desire to whisk him away from the overprotective Mello. He only wanted Mello, all of Mello. That sharp face, those warm hands, those soft lips, he wanted them all. Every inch of tanned skin was begging to be touched by the younger boy, and that wicked smile always teased in a way that no one else ever had. Ah, it was enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he didn't let them fall.

Perhaps the answer was to purposely put wrong answers on the tests and papers so that he could fall behind his idol once more. If he did that, surely Mello would once more let him into that precious circle. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Near shot it down. Mello's pride had already been wounded and he would not be likely to forgive so easily. If he fell behind on purpose, Mello would only get more infuriated and he would never forgive his worshiper.

"So difficult," he mumbled to himself as he stroked his pale belly. "It looks like no matter how painful, there's only one way to get him to love me back. Or rather, only one way to make sure that he will keep watching me."

His analytical mind sorted through all kinds of scenarios, but as he suspected, there was only one way to guarantee that he would always be on Mello's mind, only one way that he could force a way into Mello's life for good. He would have to have to continue to hold the number one spot as L's successor. Frowning deeply, Near shook his head. He didn't _want_ to be L's next successor; heck, he didn't even really know who this L person was. Sure, he was mentioned often in lectures, but he never really stuck out. Supposedly, he was the smartest person on the planet, the greatest detective of the century. Still, why the hell should he care? He didn't come to Wammy's House because he wanted to; he was only here because they brought him here.

Dragging his hand down to the flesh that he hadn't dared to touch since that pedophile used him, Near released a shaky sigh of pleasure. There had only been one person who had elicited such feelings from him, only one person who had made him _want_ to touch himself. "Oh, Mello," he moaned as his cold hand touched the hot and swollen flesh, "ngh, I _want_ you." Who would have ever imagined that the marble child Near could feel so intensely?

~_~_~_~_~_

Cool moist air brushed L's face, ruffling his hair affectionately. Wammy's House, his home of many years, the building that held so many of his intimate secrets. Today, he didn't have time to waste, so instead of being his usual bratty self, he grabbed his bulky bag and swiftly made his way to his room upstairs. Silence greeted him and he welcomed it. There was lots of work to be done, and he needed to start early if there was any chance of catching his mother.

Nimble fingers carefully set up his huge electronic network. The newest computers and programs were at his disposal and he set up all of his safety precautions as per usual. Once that was done, he pulled his knees up to his chest and waited for all the information Watari was going to send his way. Not even thinking about it, L pulled up the files he had on all of his potential successors. B's picture flashed onto the screen and the raw and abused thumb once again found its place against his lips. The ends of his lips curled up in an affectionate smile as his eyes roamed across the younger boy's features. This picture had been taken before B had begun his strange impersonation. Dark hair hung down to his shoulders in stylish layers and his dark eyes seemed to stare straight through the camera lens and into the eyes of the beholder, smothering them with a strange power. Pale fingers reached out to stroke the image and a small chuckle followed. The one time he had talked face-to-face with B had been unusual, but he had treasured it. That strawberry flavor still lingered.

"L?"

The image disappeared as he promptly opened up his specialty programs. "Yes, Watari?"

"Mello saw me on my way here and wants to know if 'Loyal' is feeling well enough to play Connect Four."

Blinking slowly, L considered his options. "Do you have the information I need?"

"Not yet. I'm still gathering it from my resources. And I haven't been able to contact Wedy yet either."

"Very well, call him up to my room," the young man sighed. "Maybe he won't bother me so much if I actually play with him." The fact that it was close to three in the morning didn't seem to bother L at all. He sometimes forgot that people weren't like him.

"Of course, Lawliet. Might I suggest that you inquire as to what is bothering him?"

A questioning look appeared on the youth's face. "Why should anything be bothering him?"

"L, he's a twelve-year-old child up at such an ungodly hour. Something must be troubling him."

Rolling his eyes, L just shrugged. He made no promises. With that, Watari turned around to fetch the young European. While he waited, L leaned back on his elbows and let his eyes scan his room. The trophies from his years of playing tennis were as spotless as usual, and a single stuffed animal, a blue penguin, remained seated on the shelf. Those beady eyes continued to stare forward, all evidence of the tear stains invisible to the naked eye.

"Loyal?" a small voice whispered.

Turning around, L was actually shocked by the sight in front of him. The small shivering child that he remembered from six years ago was no where to be seen and instead, a blooming young tween was standing there instead. Days of playing outside had given him a sun-kissed tan which complimented his darkening blond hair. Turquoise eyes shone out even more brightly than ever before, perfectly framed by that familiar bob and by his sharp features. The roundness from his limbs had melted away into lithe firm muscles which fit well under his faded t-shirt and pajama pants which had been cut to mid-calf so they looked more like capris. Bare feet shuffled nervously on the thick carpet, and perfectly shaped fingers twisted the edge of his shirt.

However, his maturing looks weren't the only thing that was different; his very aura seemed to have changed from that of a scared and clingy child to that of something more grown up, something more…well, he wasn't quite sure. It was something else, that's for sure. "Mello," he replied, a little more breathless than he intended.

L wasn't the only one who was pleasantly surprised. Mello couldn't believe the scene that was before him. It had been years since he had seen Loyal, and boy had he aged well. He had filled in well and although he was still on the scrawny side, it fit just right underneath his baggy jeans and his long sleeved shirt. The dark bags under his eyes had darkened and added dimension to his bottomless onyx eyes. Messy hair added to his uniquely cool appearance, like the icing on a chocolate cupcake. The older man's thin lips parted as his eyes coolly measured up the younger boy and Mello couldn't help but feel even more self-conscious. When he heard Loyal's voice, it actually startled him. "Y-yes?"

"You wanted to play?" he questioned with a little more control. It was odd how Mello just seemed to take his breath away; truly curious.

"Yeah, well, I did." There was a hint of hesitation.

"But now? Is that something else you would rather do?"

Mello licked his lips briefly. "Well, since it's kind of early in the morning, um, do you just want to talk?"

Tilting his head to the side, L realized that he had never really just sat down and talked to someone. Anytime he talked with Watari, their discussions would revolve around world problems and current cases, and it was almost guaranteed that they would end up in an argument. So how was he supposed to carry on a conversation with this young boy? But still, he couldn't say no to that hopeful face. "I must warn you that I am quite inept when it comes to carrying a casual conversation. I can say in all honesty that I don't think I've really had one before."

Deciding to be a little bold, Mello slowly walked into the room and sat on the floor next to the insomniac. "That's ok, Loyal. It's not like I'm going to judge you or anything. We can just talk about…whatever."

"Hmmm, whatever?"

"Yeah! Like, how was the trip?"

"It was tiring, yet necessary."

"…and?"

"That's all. What else is there to say about it?"

"Ooookay. Um, what are all those trophies for?" A large smile spread across his face as he took in the 1st place prizes.

"I was the English Junior Champion in tennis when I lived here in England."

"Really? Wow!" Mello's smile was like a blast of sunshine and it almost made L squint. What a glowing child. "Do you still play tennis?"

"No, not really," L sighed as he leaned against the wall behind him. He didn't mind as Mello scooted a little closer to him. "I've been busy working, so I haven't really had a chance to keep up with a hobby."

"But you liked it, right?"

L thought about it. Why did he play tennis in the first place? It was so long ago, that he almost couldn't remember. "Yes, I did enjoy it. At first, I just did it to shut Watari up, but tennis was a very engaging game."

"So, it was mentally challenging as well?"

"Of course," L scoffed. "All sports include a mental aspect…"

The conversation carried on for a few hours before the young boy finally fell asleep from exhaustion. When Watari walked in to bring the morning sugar for L, he was surprised to see L remaining motionless while the young blond used his flat stomach as a pillow. Bony fingers were tentatively stroking the loose golden locks, even as he looked up to see his caretaker standing there with a silver tray of sweets. He motioned for the food to be set on the floor within his reach and then shooed the old man away.

"I'll inform his instructors that he will not be attending classes today," Quillsh whispered.

"Of course," L replied before stuffing a cream puff into his mouth.

"I'm glad that you're getting to know him a little better. Be sure to treat Near and Matt the same. Who knows, with a little goading, Matt could probably outdo the both of them."

"Watari, don't go off making plans for me," he warned. "Now, I need that information."

"Of course. You will be pleased to know that Wedy will be arriving sometime tomorrow."

"Good. By then, the Succubus will have struck again, so we will have to work hard."

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**Um, yeah. I've got nothing snazzy to say. :) Please review and let me know what you think! Next chapter: the hunt for Succubus and a little surprise.**


	21. Cleavage

**Ok, so as promised there is a nice little surprise in here for you all. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter even though it is a little shorter than I wanted it to be. Thanks to all the readers who reviewed/alerted/favorited this story. I really would not have been able to continue with this story without all the awesome support. :) **

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A musty European cigarette dangled delicately between lush red lips. Dark black hair hung down and tossed carelessly in the soft breeze. Designer sunglasses sat on the perfectly straight bridge of the woman's nose and the sun showed off her smooth ivory skin just as much as the miniskirt and the half-way buttoned blouse. Young fools stared at her unabashedly, and older men cast side-way glances as if she couldn't see their ogling. Idiots, all of them. A smile curled on her lips as she continued to watch the news.

"Absolutely stunning news today," the female reporter announced breathlessly as she glanced down at her papers, double checking yet again. "There is a special announcement coming from…well, I'm not quite sure, but…hell, just put the damn clip on!"

The screen went white and a large Old English Five "L" stood out in the middle of the emptiness. Not long afterward, an annoying electrically distorted voice broke the silence. "Hello, I am L; by now, the world already knows about my existence and everyone alive knows what I do. I make sure that Justice is upheld all around the world, and I have never failed. I interrupt the daily lives of thousands, possibly even millions, to announce that I will be pursuing a new criminal, one who has dared to escape the clutches of the judicial system for over twenty years."

People around the café were muttering excitedly as L took a breath. "Wow, is that really L?"

"Dude, that is so totally L!"

"I feel bad for the poor sucker who got on L's radar."

She just smiled even more widely as the garbled voice continued. "Succubus, you are no doubt watching this broadcast. Listen well, as I'll only say this once. I _will_ find you, I _will_ catch you, and you _will _be held accountable for all of your crimes." With that, the broadcast ended.

"You heard it," the reporter commented breathlessly. "L himself has declared war on a serial thief that has eluded authorities from numerous countries for over two decades…"

The woman chuckled deeply, taking a drag and blowing out the smoke. "Making me sound like an old lady, bitch."

Standing up, Katrina slung her purse over his shoulder and began walking to her newest target. Today was a glorious day, bright and refreshing. The Hara Museum of Contemporary Art looked so deliciously vulnerable to her and she licked her lips in appreciation. As she stubbed out her cigarette, Katrina glanced at the children walking in and out of the museum with their parents. An attractive teen caught her eye and she took the time to watch him and his family for a little bit. A small dark haired girl clung to her brother's hand tightly and he smiled down at her with sparkling white teeth. His caramel locks glinted attractively in the sunlight and his flawlessly coordinated outfit made her wonder if he had been dressed by his mother. No boy could look so perfect and well, _perfect_.

"Sayu, hold on a moment," he chuckled as his little sister tried to drag him down the stairs faster. "Mom and Dad are still in the museum."

"But that pwace is swoooo boring!" she complained, adjusting her plastic pink backpack. Her Japanese really did need some work, but what could you expect?

"Well Mom and Dad liked it, so you have to wait for them. After all, didn't they wait for you when we were at the amusement park? Mom hates rides, but she stayed and even went on a few just for you."

"You're wight," she admitted before smiling widely. "You're always wight, Light-chan!"

The affectionate brother patted his sister on the head before his glance came over to Katrina. Intelligent eyes widened in surprise as he took in her overly exposed figure before his glanced turned into one of analyzing. Surely she wasn't native, dress like _that_, but the slant in her eyes seemed to speak of an Asian bloodline. It was improbable that she was some kind of prostitute since the front of a museum would not be ideal for business, but then again, most Asian women wouldn't wear such high heels.

"Don't worry, kid, I won't bite," Katrina teased as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "And I'm not going to approach you either."

"I knew that," he replied easily. "Besides, I'm only 15, a minor. I have no interest in being approached by you."

"Ouch, nice one."

"Thank you."

Ooh, polite as well. "I'll be carrying on, then. It was nice to meet you."

"I'm Yagami Light," he introduced himself properly, with his last name first. "This is my sister Yagami Sayu. It's impossible to say that we have truly met if we don't even know each other's names."

She really liked this boy. He had a certain air about him, a kind of spunk that she liked to think that L would have. "Lawliet Katrina," she said with an outstretched hand. "Now, it has been nice meeting you."

"Likewise," he replied politely, with a slight bow. Sayu remained quiet and just ogled the older woman's bare and curvy legs.

Once their hands parted, she couldn't help but walk off with a genuine smile.

"Why was that wady naked?" Sayu asked in hushed tones.

~_~_~_~_~_

"No way!" Mello protested. "You suck!"

L rose an eyebrow and the corner of his lips threatened to uplift in a smirk. "In your face," he deadpanned.

It was the fourth time in a row that L had beaten Mello at Battleship, but the older of the two was glad that he hadn't seen the infamous hissy fits yet. Wasn't this child supposed to have an inferiority complex, or something?

"Well, you have to give me one of your slices of cake," Mello commanded with all the dignity of a freshly defeated captain of a sinking ship.

"You will have to explain the reasoning of that," L asked as he pulled his tray of sweets closer to himself. "If you are the one who has been defeated, shouldn't you be the one to offer me something?"

"I don't have anything," the fiery blond retorted with a pout. "So that means that you have to give me something."

"I disagree," L retorted stubbornly. He was _way_ too used to talking to Watari. "If you have nothing, you must offer your body in servitude until you pay off your debt."

"That _would _be true," Mello shot back, "except that we didn't bet on anything. Your giving me chocolate would be an act of charity on your part. That, and I'm super hungry." A sickeningly sweet smile spread across his mischievous face and he crawled to the young man. "Just a tiny piece, ok?"

This time, L didn't feel like saying "no" to the boy. Sharing some of his sweets didn't seem like such a bad idea after all. Besides, Watari would just bring him more. "You are very manipulative, Mello," he stated as he pulled a large moist slice of chocolate cake off of his tray and handed it to his wannabe successor. The treat was barely handed off before it was ravaged by that cute little mouth. Chocolate smeared all over that flawless skin and sharp little teeth dug into the cake savagely.

Once the slice was eaten, Mello glanced up and smiled at his friend. Loyal actually looked surprised with the speed he had used to eat that delectable treat. Laughing at the strange expression, Mello leaned forward and pressed a quick peck to the corner of the man's lips. When he leaned back, Mello broke out laughing hard. The look on Loyal's face was priceless.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Watari asked good-naturedly as he walked in with a food cart. Large ornate cakes rested heavily on the top self while bowls of colorful candy and chocolates filled out the rest of the heavy-duty cart.

"Food!" Mello cried in happiness as he jumped up and rushed the cart. L just sat back and brushed his fingers against the wet chocolate smear left by the little fireball.

"Loyal, I've also brought some of the papers you requested," the caretaker hinted. "Would you like me to take Mello away so that you can work?"

"No way," Mello whined. He dropped the candy that he had clenched in both fists and he jumped on the lanky adult. "I haven't been able to see Loyal for _years_, you can't take him away!"

L just continued to watch silently. "Mello, he's not 'going away', but he needs to do some work. This is very important stuff."

"I don't care!"

"Come now, Mello, you're being unreasonable," Watari said firmly.

"No, you can't make me!" His strong arms wrapped around the thin waist of his friend and Mello buried his face in the soft material of the shirt.

The frown was quite evident on Watari's face, but before he could say anything else, the door slammed open, shocking everyone in the room. Black stilettos led up to fishnet stockings and pale shapely legs and those legs led up to a curvy waist, an ample bosom, cherry red lips, and styled blonde hair. As soon as the person standing in front of him registered, L relaxed and realized that he was squeezing the boy in his arms protectively.

"Did you give me a ring, darling?" the woman asked cockily as she shifted her weight to her right foot. Her crossed arms succeeded in pushing her shapely breasts closer together, clearly showing off her impressive cleavage and leaving nothing to the imagination. "You know how much I just _love_ to be at your every whim." The sarcasm was not lost on the socially retarded genius.

"Who is she?" Mello whispered in a scared voice. That woman was all attitude and she was quite impressive with her over six foot figure.

"Never mind her," L comforted. "She's just a friend."

The woman scoffed at that. "I didn't know that blackmail was the newest way to gain friends forever."

L just shrugged. "Was your flight enjoyable, Wedy?"

"Like hell it was," she complained as she rolled her neck and stretched her back. "What do you need?"

A small smile curled on the strange man's lips as he stared at her overexposed chest. It was kind of…creepy. Wedy sweatdropped. "First of all, if you could shove your breasts back where they belong, _inside_ your shirt if you didn't know, then we can move along to more serious issues."

Watari felt himself blush at L's straightforwardness and he strictly avoided staring at the woman's ample bosom. After all, the last woman he ogled ended up stealing his work, leaving him, having a child (his presumably), and abandoning said child so that he could raise him. Yes, he was definitely keeping his eyes to himself.

Wedy, on the other hand, didn't seem the least bit perturbed. "Just think of this as a little incentive. I'll even offer you a grope if this gets wrapped up today."

"No thank you," L replied immediately. "However, I don't think that you'll have a problem helping me this time."

"Oh really?" she challenged. "What could you possibly offer me that would make this little experience enjoyable? Hot steamy sex?"

Mello wasn't quite sure what this crazy lady was talking about, but he didn't like it. She was staring at Loyal strangely, so in an attempt to protect his friend, he shot her a dirty look and clung to the skinny man possessively. L just smiled mischievously.

"No, this is better. How would you like a chance to catch Succubus?"

Those few words were enough to shut that painted mouth. Wedy's wide eyes stared at L incredulously and for several sweet minutes, she was speechless. When she finally gathered the energy to speak, there was a definite undertone of excitement. "_The_ Succubus?" Seeing the nod, her lips curled up into a competitive and devious smile. "Then I'd be honored to help in any way that I can."

~_~_~_~_~_

Matt was nearly in tears. When he had come back after his shower, he had been shocked to realize that Mello was no longer in the room. Stupidly, he had waited up, hoping to apologize for his strange behavior. Of course, he would lie about the true reason for it, but maybe then Mello wouldn't try to avoid him. Unfortunately, Mello never came back. Instead, hopeless Matt was left to fend for himself yet again. In all honesty, it seemed that his dependence on Mello was growing to unhealthy levels. His hands were shaking badly, he couldn't focus in class, and he couldn't even play his numerous games. Eventually, as the day wore on, he turned to wondering the halls. After several hours (at least he imagined that it was several hours), he stumbled upon the janitor taking a cigarette break. The older man looked up at the surprised boy and he smiled a little as the smoke curled up.

"Can I help you?" he asked calmly, as if a child finding him sneaking a break was no big deal.

"Er, n-no, not really." When was the last time he had a conversation with someone other than Mello?

The man just stared at the weird kid with goggles and Matt just stared back. After a few more minutes, the man patted the floor next to him and Matt automatically took a seat. "You look like you have something on your mind, kid."

Matt stared warily at the man. What if he was a pedophile? "I just…well, it's nothing."

"Suit yourself," the man mumbled. "It's not like I'm a babysitter or anything."

Matt snorted at the idea that the sweaty janitor here would be babysitting geniuses from all over the world. "Lucky for us, eh?"

"Lucky for _me_," the janitor replied quickly. "Want a light?" he asked as he held out a cigarette. "You look like you could use one."

Staring at the little white stick, Matt felt himself get nervous. He knew that he wasn't supposed to; after all, he _was_ a minor. "W-why would I need one?" he asked curiously. He had never thought about it before, but what was the point of puffing on something that could give you cancer?

"It's just 'cause you looked stressed, guv. If there ever was a miracle drug, it's damned tobacco."

Frowning, Matt took the cigarette. It felt a little squishy in between his fingers, and its white and orange paper didn't seem all that attractive. "I guess I can try it," he mumbled, more to himself than to the janitor. "I mean, what would be the harm?"

"Yeah, just don' go around telling the head here, or I might lose my job." With that, he flicked on his lighter and held it to the tip. "Now just take a little puff; don't try a deep one or you'll choke and look like a fool."

Keeping that in mind, the American brought the cancer stick to his mouth and took the man's advice. Even with the small gulp of smoke, though, threatened to send him into a fit of unmanly coughs. Tears watered his sensitive eyes and his esophagus felt as if it was on fire. It didn't take him long to submit to the temptation and a few feeble coughs made its way through. The janitor just laughed. "Don't worry, you'll get used to that."

Just as he was wondering _why_ he would bother getting used to such a horrid feeling, something pretty amazing happened. A familiar feeling began running through his veins, an artificial calmness that soothed his frayed and inflamed nerves. His eyes fluttered shut as he took in a deeper breath, automatically holding it in for a few seconds before slowly exhaling it. Another rush went through him, bringing goosebumps to his flesh.

"Hehehehe, looks like you enjoy that."

"Mmmm," was the only reply Matt could give. It seemed as if he was melting on the spot.

"Well, don't expect me to be giving you cigs all the time, guv. Just think of this as a little bribe so you don't go blabbing to the head about my extra breaks."

"Mmmhhhmm."

"Wow," was all the older man could say. "I guess you really like it."

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**Author's Notes: Alright, I have to be completely honest. XD The last chapter was written while I was half-asleep and so was the author's notes. The result? I read over the author's notes and couldn't figure out what the damn I was talking about. Little surprise? WTF? Yes, that was my reaction. Nonetheless, I was able to come up with something and I hope that it was enjoyable. I actually thought that it worked out well. **

**Next chapter: ...take a wild guess!!!  
**


	22. Women are from Venus

**Ok, dearest readers. For this chapter, I thought it would only be fair to give you all a heads up. Although this chapter is about L catching Succubus, amongst other things, I am NOT going to go into all the insane details about the hunt. I probably could go into the nitty gritty about each letter she leaves him, how he interprets them, how he sets the bait, etc., but there are two main reasons that I won't go into all that. One, it would take too fucking long to get the chapter out if I did that, and I am really anxious to get this story going. Two, I want to focus more on the emotions during the hunt, and the feelings each of the characters have. This whole story has been focused on revealing all kinds of emotions and the different relationships that the characters have towards each other. So, I hope that you all aren't too disappointed and that you guys will enjoy the chapter!**

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**Computers whirred loudly, heating up the small room. Papers fluttered and a metal spoon clanked against a delicate china tea cup. Leather creaked, and a box of cassettes fell over. The chase had officially begun, and L was going all out. Sour gumdrops made their way into his mouth at an alarming speed and his eyes darted around the room, picking up all of the information. The newspaper clips about three famous portraits being stolen were scanned before the security cameras became the focus of his attention.

"That's really disgusting, you know," Wedy stated as she watched the thin brat scarf down an _entire_ bag of those nasty gumdrops in less than three minutes. "How do you not have a mouthful of cavities?"

"I brush," he mumbled as he tossed the empty bag over his shoulder. His sharp fingers brought the hand-painted cup to his lips and he slurped up the sugary sludge. Wedy gagged. "You don't have to watch me eat," he offered as he set the cup down. "As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure that you could get more work done if you weren't staring at me all the time."

"If you weren't slurping so loudly all the time, maybe I could get something done." As if to prove her point, L slurped up a gummy worm.

"Nonsense."

"What the fuck? You think just because you're some smart ass, you can have the last word? Like, it's just a given that you're always right?"

L looked up feigning thought, before answering abruptly. "Yes, that's right."

Not being a lady to take shit from anyone, Wedy stood up, marched over to the swivel chair where her boss was sitting, and slapped him across the face. Unfortunately, she wasn't expecting L's reaction and she gawked as she watched him flip over the arm of the chair and land in a crumpled heap among his papers and city maps.

"Oh shit, are you ok?" she cried as she ran around the chair to check up on him. If L died here in his office, she would never get her chance to take out the legendary Succubus, her idol.

Groaning unhappily, L untangled himself and looked up at Wedy in a daze. "Did you just hit me?" he questioned with a confused look on his face.

"Oh hell, did you hit your head?! Can you remember my name?"

L chuckled and with the blonde's help, he sat up and rubbed his sore cheek. "Wedy, I appreciate your concern, but perhaps you can be concerned next time and _not_ hit me?"

She swatted his arm playfully, and he grunted in pain. Wedy rose her eyebrow. "L, do you have any muscles on that wiry frame?"

"What a ridiculous question," L snorted. "Without muscles, how could my body function? I wouldn't be able to move."

"You know what I mean."

Shrugging, L hopped back onto the spinning chair. "I used to play tennis, but I no longer have time to do any kind of exercising now."

Walking back to her pile of building schematics, Wedy offered a suggestion. "I think that you should look into self defense, like martial arts." L turned his attention to her, but didn't say anything. "I mean, even something like Yoga could help you. You may be fine with living your life in secrecy, but if you ever came into contact with the real world and got assaulted, you'd be as helpless as a puppy."

"Puppies have teeth," L stated.

"L," Wedy warned. "I'm serious. Even if you _never_ come in contact with the human race, at least you wouldn't be so pathetic."

The pale young man bristled at being called pathetic, but he didn't say anything. Cracking his neck, he turned his attention back to his work. Wedy looked back down at the blueprints to the museum that L believed Succubus would try to steal from next. Her job was to find the weaknesses in the security and to plant cameras secretly so that they could catch her in the act of stealing.

Biting her cherry red lip, Wedy diligently studied the papers and marked out every possible weakness. Ever since she had begun her career as a cat burglar, she had been in awe of the legendary Succubus's work. She had only been caught once in her entire career, and it was by this brat in this very room; even with that, she had been able to slip between the bars and she never made it to the prison. Succubus was especially famous for taking advantage of rich men, and that was what Wedy admired her the most for. Shaking her head, Wedy couldn't help but think back to her family, the ridiculously wealthy idiots she lived with all her life.

"Do you have everything figured out, yet?" L asked as he flipped through some more surveillance.

"Uh, yeah. Let me write up a list of supplies that I'll need."

Looking up, her sharp grey eyes took in the sight of her boss, hunched over. His onyx eyes seemed to swallow all of the light from the monitors and television screens, and it seemed as if she could literally see the gears spinning in his head, processing far more information than any normal human being could ever hope to. This was the same person who had solved numerous "unsolvable" cases. Why did he do it? Why did he bother catching some criminals and then just let them go? Wedy wasn't in the habit of fooling herself. L had caught her fair and square, but why did he refuse to turn her in? Maybe she _was_ being stupid. He could just be using her skills, as the current situation seemed to confirm. Shrugging, she turned back to her work. As long as he allowed her to do what she was good at, who was she to complain?

~_~_~_~_~_

"Aiber?! Are you completely out of your mind?"

"Hey, I don't like working with your ugly little ass, either," the tall Frenchman sighed as he leaned against the door frame.

Wedy bristled and was ready to tear the con-artists testicles off. The now-familiar bony hand shot out in warning, making Wedy reign in her fury. She chewed the inside of her cheek in annoyance as she watched that bastard's smug grin widen.

"I am aware of your past work together," L drawled before slurping some more of that sludge he insisted in calling tea.

"Work? Work?! He conned me!"

"Well, you _were_ trying to steal my diamonds," he defended calmly, looking down at his immaculate nails.

"Oh, yeah, and I _did_ get your rubies, you fat freak!"

"Fat?!"

"Now, now, children," L interrupted again, as if he wasn't the youngest one in the room; which he was. "Shouldn't you two be over that stuff already? That incident was years ago."

"But-"

"No," he asserted more firmly. "Unless the both of you would like to spend the rest of your natural lives locked up in maximum security, I want you to work together. Nicely." Nodding, he was glad he added that last part. Otherwise, he'd be in living hell.

Both of the professional criminals wanted to argue, but they knew that L would have no qualms following through with his threat. It was almost unspoken that he had a list of other criminals that he was blackmailing and he could easily replace the two of them. However, Wedy knew that the two criminals in this room were the best, and L was probably bluffing, and hoping that they would believe that he was being dead serious.

"L, you can't con a con-artist," Aiber replied coolly, running his fingers through his perfect hair.

L looked up from the photocopies of the sticky notes that had been left at the scenes of the crime. His face was blank as usual, and his eyes seemed to bore into Aiber until the older man was squirming. "Hunh, how naïve," he mumbled before looking back at the photocopies. "Now, Aiber, I want you to take over a museum," he clumsily threw a manila folder at the man. "You will be the manager, the head-honcho."

"Wait, aren't you going to catch her in this newest museum?" Wedy asked. She had spent hours preparing those damn cameras.

"Of course not," L scoffed. "Those cameras are merely there to give me an idea of how she goes about dodging security. I will learn her secrets, and then catch her at a later museum." Rolling his eyes to look up at the ceiling, the young adult seemed to be doing some calculations. "Yes, there is a 97% chance that I will catch her in two weeks, exactly three museums from now."

"Ah, so that's why you want me to become the manager to this new one?" Aiber exclaimed. "It'll give me two weeks to prepare and work my magic."

"Tch, you need _two _weeks?"

"Dear mother of all things holy!" L cried in exasperation, throwing up his hands and all the papers in them. "Can't you two just shut the bloody hell up and listen?!"

Hearing the world's greatest detective blow up like that had the desired effect immediately. Aiber and Wedy clamped their mouths shut and just watched their boss quietly. Who knew what he would do next if he got pissed off even more? Standing up and walking around in his hunched way, L took a deep breath and continued with what he was saying.

"Aiber will have exactly two weeks to gain access to the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Wedy, I need you to analyze all of the videos that we will receive and I want a detailed report. In exactly nine days we will move our base of operations to New York City; I already have reservations for the Pierre Hotel for the four of us. Now, is everyone clear on what's going to be done?"

The two criminals nodded mutely, impressed that such a bony punk could have such a commanding quality. Just then, a familiar head of blond hair peeked in through the door. "Loyal?"

L jumped in surprise and looked around nervously at his files. "Er, how can I help you?"

"Cool!" he cried out as he ran into the room and took in the entirety of the messy room. "Are you a detective too?! Oh, who the hell are these blokes?"

Aiber and Wedy looked offended at being referred to as "blokes" but L couldn't help but grin. "Astute deduction, Mello. I am indeed a detective, and these two here are some helpers."

"You can have helpers?" Mello asked in confusion. "Isn't that like cheating?"

"Haven't you read any Sherlock Holmes by now?" L snorted as he patted the growing child's head affectionately. Mello already came up to his xiphoid process, and if his lanky limbs were any indication, he was going to continue growing.

"Um, no? Is it important?! Damn it, I knew that I should have read that stupid booklist!"

Wedy looked at Aiber, his eyes wide in confusion. He shrugged before motioning for her and him to make a graceful exit. L didn't seem to even remember that they were there. He was already trying to fight off Mello's attempts at stealing his chocolate cake. Nodding, she picked up her Gucci purse and quietly made her escape with the devilishly handsome con artist close behind. Her ruby lips curled up in amusement as she schemed on how to make the said criminal pay for conning her. Oh, it was going to be good.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Mello, don't you love me anymore?!" Matt sobbed overdramatically as he clung to his friend's leg.

Looking down in surprise, Mello tried to kick his idiot friend off, but Matt didn't have any intention of letting go. Instead, he only sobbed harder, making a bigger scene. Since he was standing in the middle of a hallway, all the students switching classes stared unabashedly at the strange display. A deep crimson blush rose on his face in humiliation as he tried to get his friend up. "Mattie, what the heck are you talking about?" he whispered as he made another attempt at kicking the brunette off.

"You can't even answer the question?! You hate me, you don't love me!!!!" Matt's wailing only increased in volume, making his friend desperately embarrassed now.

"Mattie!" he hissed. "I don't know where you got that crazy idea, but we can talk about it later, ok?"

"No!! I'm going to die, you hate me!!!! ADMIT IT!!!"

"I don't hate you!" Mello shouted desperately as he worked at pulling the younger boy up.

"Then tell me that you love me!!!!!" Matt demanded in a loud theatrical voice. A round of laughter burst out amongst all the students, making Mello's face nearly purple.

"I, well, Mattie," Mello begged, not liking how everyone was laughing at him.

"You can't even say it! Liar!"

Patience had never been a word associated with Mello. Anger was. Fury, off-the-handle, spastic, emotional, and even vindictive. Now? The Slovenian boy drew to his full height and shot a death glare to every fool within eyesight. Why was he being embarrassed? Everyone here knew that he loved Mattie, so why did his stomach churn at the idea of admitting it to everyone here? His football buddies stood near the door to his right.

"Fine, you want to here it, Mattie? I LOVE MY MATTIE!!!!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, shocking all of the children. The little kids giggled while a few of the older ones let their jaws drop. Looking down at his now still best friend, a vein pulsed in his forehead. "And now, I'm going to kill you." Grabbing Matt by the ear, he painfully dragged the boy away so that he could commit the murder in private. Everyone was too stunned to do anything but stare.

Matt remained silent as they made their way to their room. Even as Mello slammed him up against the wall, he just continued to look down at the floor. A few tears spilled out from under his goggles. "What the hell was that?" Mello demanded. "Weren't you the one who didn't want people knowing about how much we care for each other? Weren't you the one who said that you didn't want to hold my hand in public because it embarrassed you?! Then what the bloody hell was that?!"

When the brunette finally looked up at his best friend, Mello caught the scent of something strong and unpleasant. "This is all your fault," Matt whispered, anger evident in his voice. "Y-you just get up and leave me all alone! You're always doing that! What the hell am I supposed to fucking do all day? _You're_ the one who won't pay any attention to me, and _you're _the one who loves to be the center of attention."

"Mattie, you're not making any sense," Mello stated firmly as he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "And what's that smell?"

"How else was I supposed to get you to even look at me? If I didn't make a huge scene, you would have just slapped my hand away and ignore me again as you go somewhere else, again."

"No, I w-"

"Then what the hell have you been doing to me the past several d-days!" Matt ordered, a hiccup interrupting the end of his sentence.

Mello frowned as he thought back. It was true that he had been really busy with all of his studying and visiting Loyal, but who could blame him? He hadn't seen Loyal in years! And Loyal was so cool, and funny, and they could eat cake together. Matt hated sweets. Still, he thought back hard and realized that he had indeed pushed Matt's hand aside and told him to wait for later. Obviously, later would never come since he usually fell asleep in his older friend's room or he would go straight to bed upon coming to his room. If he wasn't sleeping, he would be studying, and Matt knew better than to interrupt him during his study sessions.

"Ok, so I haven't paid a lot of attention to you," Mello finally acceded, "but that doesn't give you a reason to act like a freakin' idiot. Besides, you hate having attention on you," he added a little more calmly. Matt had been acting really weird.

Sniffing, Matt nodded his head. "I'm not feeling so good," he whimpered as he fell into Mello's arm. He clutched at his stomach and cried even harder. Remembering the time that Matt first arrived at Wammy's House, Mello struggled not to panic and instead carried his ill friend to the infirmary.

Several hours later, three of Mello's football friends were sitting across the desk from Roger while Mello watched on angrily. "Alright, please explain why you thought spiking Matt's drink with bourbon was a good idea," the old man asked wearily.

Evan gulped and looked up at the caretaker nervously. "W-well, we didn' mean no 'arm, sir," he started. "See, the bloke's been down 'n mopey for the past few days, and yeah, we figure that since…well, no insult intended, sir…since you feel bet'er after a nice drink, Matty boy migh' feel he same."

A twitch of annoyance tugged on Roger's upper lip as he fought to keep a blush of embarrassment from rising up. Mello just crossed his arms more tightly. "You lot have the strangest way of thinking," the caretaker finally replied with a sigh. "Ok, I can see that you three didn't have any ill-will towards Matt and didn't intend to harm him. However, what you did was foolish and it has made him very sick."

"We're so sorry," Chase mumbled. "I mean, since Matt is Mello's best mate, we just wanted to help him. We figured that if we made Matt happy, then Mello would get happy again."

The words stung at Mello, even as he was fuming. Why was everyone saying he was upset? There was nothing wrong with him, nothing at all! "Well you just managed to piss me off," Mello hissed.

"Mello, enough," Roger reprimanded. "Now, I want you all to know that Matt has a medical condition that makes him very fragile. Do _not_, under any circumstance tamper with any of his food ever again. As a matter of fact, don't tamper with anyone's food or drink. Is that clear?" The boys nodded. "Now, Mello, do not attack these boys. I will punish them accordingly."

"Yes sir," Mello grumbled.

As soon as the four boys were out of Roger's office, the blonde's three friend begged to be forgiven. Although he was a little reluctant, Mello had to admit that they really had the best of intentions when they poured Roger's alcohol into Matt's drink.

"Seriously, Mello, what's been up with you lately?" Chase asked. "You've been really out of it ever since you and Near got into that row. Why don't you just make up with him?"

Before he thought of it, Mello threw a punch at his shorter friend. Chase wasn't able to dodge it and fell back from the impact of the hit. All of his friends looked at him in shock, and even Mello was surprised with himself. "D-don't say that again," he hissed, eyes blazing dangerously. With that, he turned on his heel and headed to Loyal's room, the only place he could feel safe right now.

Down the hall, Matt struggled to keep his body from trembling as he felt the alcohol wearing off. Because he easily got addicted, the nurses were worried that he would suffer from withdrawals badly enough to need to go to the hospital. After all, he had been throwing up ever since he got into the infirmary and it wouldn't be the first time he needed to be hooked up to an IV to get fluids into his body. Still, he wasn't stupid; he knew that all of the adults were worried about his mental state. As the local nut job (now that Beyond had run away), Matt was noticing how teachers and even caretakers were watching him even more closely. Now that Mello had been ignoring him, he felt as if his sanity had taken a vacation. Nothing was making sense to him, nothing was falling into place. Thus, he was stuck in the infirmary for the night, not only for his physical well-being, but also so that they would be able to strap him down to the table if he completely lost it.

Why wouldn't Mello come visit him?

~_~_~_~_~_

Los Angeles, his physical home. Rolling his shoulders, Beyond leaned back on the bench he was sitting on and just let his eyes roam over the pedestrians. Joseph Van Gett, Danielle Marka, Ben Johnson, Eric Davis, etc. Names floated everywhere, clouding up the wonderfully smogged air. Heh, and the government was worried that billboards would clutter the skyline.

Sighing, he munched on a hot dog he bought from a street vendor. His barbeque chips and Orange Fanta rested next to him, untouched. Watching people had become almost a ritual to him. Each person he saw helped a complicated plan form in his mind, the plan that he was going to use to defeat L the brat. Backyard Bottomslash, what a funny name. Taking another bite, his dark eyes were drawn to a young girl walking by herself. Kennedy Williams and an ominous death date floated above her head, but that wasn't what caught his eye. It was the fact that she was all alone, crying. Her hand clenched reflexively around her backpack strap, and her reddish brown hair fluttered feebly around her well-shaped face. Not minding the fact that he was a stranger, she sat on the bench heavily and continued to cry.

Dark eyes blinked owlishly before he decided that common courtesy suggested he question her plight. "What's wrong, little girl?" he asked softly. Wincing, he couldn't help but think that he sounded like a pedophile.

Her swollen eyes turned up to stare at him, and he was a little disturbed that she didn't show the slightest bit of suspicion. Didn't her parents teach her to be aware of friendly strangers? He felt tempted to offer her candy; too bad he didn't have any. "I-it's nothing really," she mumbled, her bright blue eyes shining under a layer of tears.

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't be walking around crying."

"Well, um, it's j-just school." She rubbed her eyes roughly, making her eyes swell even worse. "I-I'm not s-smart, and they make f-fun of me."

Ah, foolish childish prejudice. "Well, only idiots feel the need to assert their intelligence by putting down those who aren't gifted with such talents."

"Hunh?"

"Er, those kids are being idiots."

"Oh. Well, it doesn't stop them," she sighed unhappily.

Biting his lip, Beyond let his mind wander back to Mello. His darling wouldn't stand being made fun of at all; nope, he would punch the living daylights out of his tormentors. Yeah, that was the Mello solution, but somehow Beyond couldn't imagine this girl beating up a bunch of kids. He barely noticed that her hand continued to twitch, an obvious sign of psychological problems. "I don't suppose that you can fight those bastards?"

She looked surprised that he even suggested that. "No, I d-don't like hurting people." Definitely not a Mello.

"Well, one should always ignore unwanted comments."

"Yeah," Kennedy mumbled. "Easier said than done."

"I concur."

Wiping her eyes some more, she leaned against the thin man for comfort. Yes, her parents seriously needed to sit down and have a nice long chat with her. "I miss my brother, you know. He used to protect me."

A tinge of pain shot through beyond as he thought of poor Mello, the boy he left behind. "What happened to him?" he asked as he awkwardly patted her head.

"He got taken away when Daddy got shot and Mama went to prison."

Beyond was genuinely surprised. Besides him, people with family issues like that really existed? "Wow, that's nice."

"No it's not," she grumbled as she snuggled into his bony arm. "I haven't seen Mail in years. I wonder if he even remembers me."

Beyond shrugged. "If you remember him, then chances are he remembers you as well. Perhaps he is thinking of you right now."

A small smile tugged on the girl's lips. "That would be nice."

Picking up the barbeque chips with his forefinger and thumb, Beyond held it out to her. Kennedy really looked like she could use the comfort of greasy potato chips. With a crinkle and crunch, the orange chips found their way into her round mouth. "Fank choo," she said through a mouthful of the snack.

Sitting back on a bench with an underage stranger, Beyond Birthday looked up at the sky and thought about a great many things. Was L staring at the same sky?

~_~_~_~_~_

Almost half-way around the globe, Wedy walked in on L in a very strange position. Grunting from the exertion, he was in the process of trying to get into a one-legged king pigeon asana, and looking thoroughly ridiculous while at it. "L, what the hell are you doing?" she asked.

"T-taking your advice," he huffed, wincing as he stretched muscles that weren't meant to stretch, and popping his curved spine as it tried to adjust to the strange position. One leg was twisted in front of him like he was preparing to sit Indian style, while the other leg was stretched out behind him. The leg behind his body was trying to curl up at the knee and his head was leaning back dangerously, puffing out his birdie chest.

"Um, if I might add another suggestion," she added, hoping that he wasn't going to break his spine doing that. "You might want to start with beginner poses. If you do that, you won't be in so much pain."

"Th-there are levels?" he asked in a pained voice.

"Yes, there are. So you don't, like, break yourself. It's all in increments."

"So, I c-can stop this now?" he pleaded through clenched teeth.

"Yes, by all means, please stop. You look like your back is about to give out."

"I agree," he grunted, finally allowing his sore limbs to relax. Looking up at Wedy, L vaguely wondered what she did with Aiber. Before he could inquire as to the well-being of his other helper, Wedy spoke first.

"L, do you really think that we can catch the Succubus this time?"

"Of course," he answered without missing a beat. He had a sinking suspicion, but he needed those tapes to confirm it.

The creak of a door made the two adults jump in surprise. Standing in the doorway with wide eyes, Mello gaped for a moment before he blurted out a question. "Are you L?"

* * *

**Author's Notes: If you find yourself curious, google the Pierre Hotel. It's a real hotel and it is AMAZING. Super fancy. Asana just means pose, so L was trying to twist himself into an expert yoga pose.**

**Ah, so I'm not sure about this chapter. I've been finding it really hard to get inspiration lately and some more personal problems have made this even worse. Still, I must press on, and I hope that I am not disappointing anyone. As a side-note, feel free to point out any mistakes; I didn't even spell-check this baby. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/alerted so far. **

**EDIT: Kat, thank you for your brutally honest review, and I have taken the criticism with a grain of salt. Although I have taken what you said to heart, I wanted to point out something. You are wrong if you think that withdrawal from alcohol "is mental, not physical, and in no way, shape, or form, would EVER require a trip to the hospital...". I agree that the small dose that Matt was subject to isn't enough to do any real damage and _is_ mostly mental, but to go so far as to say that a person would _never_ need to go to the hospital because of withdrawal is a false statement. (http://)(www)(.wisegeek)(.com)(/what-are-symptoms-of-alcohol-withdrawal)(.htm) is just one of many articles that can be found on the internet concerning this. Now, Matt's staying in the infirmary was _not _because of any fear that he would suddenly die or anything drastic like that; I've clarified that in the chapter and I apologize for not making it clearer before.  
**


	23. Trigger

**Yay, another chapter! This chapter is going to be dedicated to seraph86 because she is just too awesome. :) Also, I want to thank Kat again for her help with the last chapter. I'm glad that she took the time to help me make my work even better. **

**

* * *

**"Are you L?"

Silence rang throughout the room as L quickly decided what to do. He was in favor of lying to Mello, but that wasn't likely to happen considering the fact that Mello was a genius and would undoubtedly figure out the truth soon enough. If he did lie now, he could destroy the trust that the boy had in him, but did that even matter? Why should a simple child's feelings toward him matter? Almost instantly, L had his answer.

"Yes, Mello. I am L."

Wedy stared at her boss in shock and then turned to look at the small boy who stood at the door. His eyes were ridiculously wide and his mouth worked a little as he struggled to come up with a response.

"W-why?" he asked breathlessly.

L tilted his head and drew his knees even closer to his body. "What do you mean?"

"Y-you…but, L?" After a few seconds, the shock seemed to fade and was quickly replaced by anger. "Why did you lie to me?" he demanded. "Why did you tell me that you were Loyal?!"

"Mello, calm down," L ordered sternly. He didn't want a big scene. "I am Loyal, just as much as I am L; they're all just names, nothing to fuss over."

"But, you didn't-"

"Do I have to?" L asked as he dropped some sugar cubes into his lukewarm tea. His eyes continued to stare mercilessly, boring into the young child. "Are you my mother that I need to tell you everything? Goodness, even if I had a mother, I wouldn't tell her everything."

All that anger that had been building inside of Mello seemed to die instantly. L's words stung painfully and Mello wasn't really sure how to react. He had never been chided in such a manner and it unnerved him. Obviously, L's reasoning was logical, but the young blond still felt hurt. He wanted to feel important enough to be told everything. Instead of feeling like a friend, he felt like a screw-up; maybe he was the only one who thought that the relationship between them was friendship. And then, a whole new feeling shot through him, shocking him to the very core. This was _L_, the greatest detective on the entire planet. And he had slept on him, stolen his food, pinched him, cursed at him, and even told him his worries. "Holy mother-fucking shit," he gasped.

L rose an eyebrow and Wedy gaped in shock. These damn orphans were crazy, the lot of them.

"Mello, refrain from such language," L ordered sternly. Shrinking back, Mello nodded mutely and looked like he was ready to bolt; seeing the boy's reaction, L's features softened. Although this was undoubtedly going to change their relationship towards each other, he didn't want to scare the boy off and ruin their time together. "You don't have to treat me any differently," he soothed. "Although you are probably confused and uncertain right now, I want you to know that I enjoy your company and would appreciate it if you came to visit me."

A look of pleasure came across Mello's face, but it was smothered in shyness. "O-ok," he whispered.

"I only ask that you _never_ reveal my presence or the fact that we are meeting to anyone."

Although Mello wanted to tell Matt all about this, L's request was law. The chance to actually get to know L far outweighed anything else he could gain by breaking the older man's trust. "I promise," he whispered.

Seeing that Mello was still in shock, L smiled a little. "I trust that you won't. Now, I do have some important work; if you don't mind, go visit your friend in the infirmary for the day."

With a quick nod, the boy was gone.

~_~_~_~_~_

Mello remained uncannily quiet as he sat on the edge of his friend's bed. Too quiet, in fact; it was kind of creepy. "Do you want to talk?" Matt asked softly.

Mello shook his head. "No, I'm ok."

"Alright."

Mello closed his eyes and sighed heavily as he leaned back against Matt's skinny legs. Frowning, Matt wondered why there was something that his best friend couldn't tell him. The more he pondered it, the more his mind wandered to another aspect of their relationship. It was obvious that he was having separation anxiety _every_ time that Mello was out of his sights.

"Dear Jesus, I'm so fucking lame," he groaned as he rubbed his blood-shot eyes. Didn't dogs get separation anxiety? Was he a dog now?

Mello's gorgeous eyes peeked up as he tilted his head cutely. "Who's Jesus?"

The brunette just stared at Mello incredulously. "Well, he was the white guy in, uh, Israel that got betrayed by his black right-hand man, Judas." Mello continued to stare at him blankly. "I mean, it's important because he got crucified, and came back so that he can save people. He even came back hundreds of years later to New York City. Then he got killed in a junkyard."

"Why?" the still confused blond asked as he crawled up next to his younger friend.

"I guess he needed to make another appearance so that people would remember him. Oh, and it probably helped some with the whole salvation thing."

"If he saved us all, why haven't I heard of him?" Mello asked concernedly.

Matt shrugged. "A bunch of people think he's a fake."

"Do you?"

Looking up thoughtfully, he replied slowly. "I kind of do. I mean, if he was going to save people, why did he get killed? Sure, he came back to life, but what good did that do? Then he got killed _again_. Like, what's that all about?"

"I guess you're right," Mello mumbled. "If someone came to save mankind, why is there still suffering and bad people?"

"I don't know," Matt replied. "That's a good point." Yawning, he leaned to his side and wrapped his arms around Mello. After a few moments of silence, he decided that he had something else to say. "Hey, Melly?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I get annoying? Is that why you leave me?"

Frowning, Mello shook his head. "No, it's not you. I just haven't been a very good friend." He looked down. "I'm sorry, Mattie; I won't ignore you anymore."

Grinning widely, Matt snuggled up against Mello even more. "And I'll try not to be too demanding."

Mello giggled and snuggled into Matt's chest. His heart was thumping pleasantly and each breath sounded comforting as it rushed through the twin lungs.

~_~_~_~_~_

The hum of the television droned on in the dark room and black eyes blinked quickly, as if the owner snapped back into reality. His weight shifted forward, popping bones in the thin feet and ankles as he took in the room carefully. Wedy was lying on the couch, a night mask ensuring her beauty sleep, Aiber's snoring could be heard from the bedroom, and the familiar heavy breathing of Watari sleeping flitted through the air from the other bedroom. Sometimes he had nightmares.

Slipping off of the couch, L padded through the sitting room and went into Watari's room. Not even sparing the old man a glance, he went to the closet and quietly pulled out a large metal encased box. Sitting down next to it, his bony fingers plucked at the lock and pried the box open. Inside the foam cocoon, several sleek guns slept contentedly. A Beretta 96G Elite II chambered in .40 Auto, a Browning Buck Mark, chambered in .22LR, with hard-chrome finish, and a Browning Buck Mark Standard Stainless URX, chambered in .22LR. The lot of them rested there, just waiting to be cradled in warm flesh and fired off into something, anything.

With well-practiced ease, he lifted up the Beretta with his forefinger and thumb. The metal felt cool against his fingers and he let both eyes slide shut. Slowly, he allowed the flawless, smooth metal to slide along his sensitive palms. A shuddering sigh escaped his lips as he did nothing but feel. The sound of sheets rubbing against each other broke the silence and L snapped his head towards the old man. Watari mumbled some things before sighing heavily and going silent once more.

The gun was placed back into its case and everything was set back into its appropriate place. Shuffling out of the room, the young man found himself standing in front of the giant window, looking out over the restless city of New York. It was at times like this that he found himself wandering to the remote corners of his mind. Corners where Beyond tickled his conscious, where memories of a woman's scent and long black hair curled in his fist lingered. He was going to see her tomorrow.

* * *

_Strawberries and sunlight is what she smelled like, holding him up to her warm bosom. Sticky fingers clenched the silky strands and tugged gently as pale eyelids drooped sleepily. An already moist thumb found its way back into his warm mouth. Music rumbled from her chest as she rocked him back and forth and stroked his back comfortingly. _

"_Mmmmaaa," he mumbled around his thumb in an attempt to mimic his mother. _

"_There, there," she cooed, rubbing circles on his back. "You can sleep." A small burp was his reply and she giggled sweetly. _

_

* * *

_This time, he couldn't let her escape. Justice would be served.

"I am Justice," he whispered, his breath fogging the cold glass of the window.

He stood watching the skyline, waiting for the sun to peek over the buildings.

~_~_~_~_~_

"L, I've got her in my sights," Wedy whispered carefully in her hidden microphone. "She's approaching the target."

"Don't make a move," L ordered. "She won't do anything now."

"I know that," Wedy hissed, trying her best to look inconspicuous in the crowd. "I watched the tapes too."

Aiber was doing his rounds, giving the histories of the different works of art, conversing with the visitors, and slowly making his way to the Succubus. She was looking every bit as stunning as she always had, and Wedy couldn't help but smile. This was the woman who inspired her into a life of crime, the woman who had only been caught by L once before. Crimson silk wrapped around her divine figure in a vintage Indian wrap dress and dark lace up heels caressed her legs. Her raven colored hair hung straight down like a thick curtain and it fluttered delicately around her shapely bum.

"Wedy, can you still see Aiber?"

"Yep. I think you should tell him to quit ogling the Succubus; she's a bit too old for him." L banged his head on the keyboard in front of him. "Wait, hold on." Narrowing her eyes, she focused on Katrina's hand as it slipped into her oversized handbag. If she was just going to reach in and grab something regular, she wouldn't be working hard to look subtle. "L, I think-"

Before she was even able to finish the sentence, Katrina pulled out a gun and shot a few rounds into the ceiling. Everyone started to scream and run around as was expected in a situation like this. Not knowing what to do, Wedy tried to blend in the crowd.

"Wedy, are you ok?!" L asked.

"Yeah, is Aiber clear?"

"Yes, he's-"

"Put your gun down!" the security guards commanded.

Smiling, Katrina pulled a girl she had managed to grab closer to her. "I wouldn't mind shooting this girl in the head right now," she called out clearly. "So you gentlemen just might want to put your guns down."

"Lady, put that girl down now or we _will_ shoot!"

"Like hell you will," she challenged. "Now, you have twenty seconds to drop you guns and back off or I will shoot this little darling in the head." The little girl began to scream in terror and squirm around, but Katrina didn't even break a sweat holding her.

"L, what do I do?" Wedy hissed. There was no reply. "L? L?!"

All the while, Katrina counted down from twenty, her stone cold eyes never wavering, never showing weakness. Cursing under her breath, Wedy reached for her revolver; she couldn't allow this woman to kill an innocent child no matter how much she idolized her. The guards stood there stubbornly, refusing to believe that she would really do harm to the girl.

"Put that girl down!"

"Three, two, one-"

A shot fired off and all the witnesses screamed in horror as blood sprayed on those closest. Katrina fell back, releasing the girl, and the guards rushed over to her, forcing her to stay on the ground. Wedy looked around for the shooter and quickly stuffed her revolver back into her purse. Someone grabbed her arm and led her away from the scene quickly.

"Wedy, are you all right?" Aiber whispered in her ear and she nodded quietly.

"Who shot the Succubus?"

"I'm not sure, but Watari's given the order for us to back off. We'll meet with L at the same hotel in a few hours."

Nodding, she followed along, only glancing once at the mess of blood and security guards.

~_~_~_~_~_

With shaking hands, L lowered his pistol. It was hard to breathe, but he had to get out before someone saw him. He wanted to believe that his own mother wouldn't harm anyone, but he couldn't be 100% sure. This was the only way, no matter how much he hated it. Dropping the hot gun into his pocket, he ran to the fire escape and began to descend. The rusted metal scraped his hands and his worn out sneakers slapped against the ground once he finally dropped down. A wave of nausea hit him and he had to lean against the side of the building. Sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer every second. It made his stomach churn even worse as he wondered about the condition of the woman he shot, of his _mother_. Forcing himself off the building, he staggered to his Buick, and once inside, he gagged and threw up all over the expensive leather. The bile burned in his throat, but it didn't dull the pain in his head.

"L? Are you ok?!"

The sound of Watari's worried voice only made him want to cry. He wasn't completely sure why he felt the tears sting his eyes or why his shoulders were shaking from the effort of not sobbing. Perhaps it was because he had shot another human being, or maybe it was because he had shot the only family he had. A warm hand clenched his shoulder and pulled him close.

"I-I will b-be fine," he choked out.

"It's all right," Watari sighed. "Let it all out, or you'll just make yourself a sick mess. Here now, just start taking deep breaths. I'll drive us to the hotel right now, and you can take a nice hot bath."

Not even knowing how to reply, L just took his caretaker's advice and breathed. Red and blue lights flashed and the sirens blared as their car slipped through the traffic. It was almost over.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Since Matt's a television junkie, everything he learned about Jesus was from **_**Jesus Christ Superstar**_** and **_**Godspell**_**. Hope that you all enjoy the cliffhanger!**

**This was a bit rushed, but I hope that it wasn't too bad. Please review and let me know what you guys think! Also, I was thinking about changing the title of this fic. If anyone has input on whether or not I should change it or if anyone has any ideas for a new title, let me know!  
**


	24. A Hug

**Ah ha ha ha! I'm back! Now, feel free to shoot me, but keep in mind that if I am suffering from gunshot wounds that might delay the next chapter. :) Please enjoy the chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or its characters. I also do not own Skittles, Hershey Kisses, or Mega-man**

**

* * *

**The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the otherwise silent room. Ignoring the pain in her body, Katrina smiled to herself; since the police weren't in here questioning her by now, it only meant one thing. L was coming to see her. A part of her was wondering if she was just delusional, but the fierce maternal side of her was screaming that her son felt the same way she did, that he could no longer live on without seeing her at least one more time. Unfortunately, perhaps one more time is all they would have together.

Footsteps made her perk up and prepare herself. Was that L? The footsteps were quite even and sure of themselves. It was a tall and confident person. Creaking open, the door allowed in an unexpected guest. "Ah, Quillsh, come to lecture me?" she teased. She refused to show her surprise or pain to this man. "And I was trying so hard to keep out of your thinning hair."

The stern British gentleman just stared at her critically. "My dear, this is by no means the situation I wanted us to be in, especially after so many years."

The raven-haired woman just smirked cruelly. "Don't you find hospitals charming? And I'm in nothing but a paper gown," she added with a wink. "However, I'm sure that you were hoping to see me behind bars when we finally met again."

"Stop with the foolishness!" Quillsh hissed in annoyance.

"When did you become such a prude?"

Quillsh didn't answer her, and instead gathered himself together. "Why did you come out now?" he asked wearily. "Don't you understand the pain you cause, the scars you always leave behind?"

All the humor seemed to drain away from the Succubus, leaving her to look alarmingly pale and weak. "I want to see my son again, Quillsh. That's all."

"Well I don't want _our_ son to see you!" he spat out angrily. "You've damaged him quite enough already."

A certain chilliness clung to her painted lips as she smiled fiercely at him. "Not _our_ son, Quillsh; _my_ son. And I don't need your fucking permission."

"What do you-"

"I want to see him," she interrupted.

"Won't you-"

"I want to see him."

"You're being-"

"I want to see _him_."

Straightening up, Quillsh looked down on the only woman capable of ensnaring his heart and pissing him off at the same time. Like a feral cat, she was fierce and untouchable, beautiful and lethal. "Unfortunately, L is now legally an adult and no longer under my guardianship. He has expressed a wish to see you, and nothing I have said has changed his mind. I'll allow him in," he said gravely, "but I swear to you, if you hurt L again, I will ensure that you get the death penalty regardless of L's wishes and the limitations of the judicial system." His icy glare was more than enough to project his seriousness on the matter, but Katrina didn't flinch.

There was only one man she had ever loved more than Quillsh, and she was eager to see him. "Bring him in already," she ordered. With a curt bow, the elderly man made an elegant exit. Bringing her scarred thumb to her mouth, the nervous mother awaited to see her only child.

~_~_~_~_~_

L was extremely nervous as he waited for Watari to come out. This would be the first time he had seen his mother since he was a year old and he was concerned with what she would think of him. Everyone but Watari stared at him as if he belonged to the circus freak show and looking down at his appearance, he had to concur. He was a bizarre individual. What if Katrina rejected him because of his appearance and strange mannerisms? She was beautiful, almost goddess-like, and she had spawned this crooked, lying, cheating, petty, brat. If he was his own mother, he would be ashamed.

Doing what he knew best, L shoved some more candy into his mouth and pulled his legs more tightly to his body. Gumdrops were not enough today, so he had three bags of Skittles and two bags of Hershey Kisses that had already been unwrapped by a dutiful Watari. A young nurse walked by and looked repulsed.

"Loyal?"

L jerked his head up to see Watari standing over him. "Yes?" he replied, his voice not betraying the turmoil in his mind.

"She's ready to meet with you."

"Very well. Oh, please remain out here so that we can talk privately."

Mr. Wammy's frown deepened, but he took a seat next to the melting sweets.

With an awkward little hop to get off the hard plastic chair, L slowly made his way to Katrina's room. There were four police officers guarding her door and a dozen more placed tactically around the facility to ensure that she couldn't escape this time. The four men gave him strange glances, but did nothing to stop him from entering. Forcing himself not to pause as he clenched the door knob with the tips of his fingers, L strode into the small room. Being careful not to look at her just yet, L hopped into the nearest chair and resumed his customary sitting position and quickly placed his thumb against his lower lip where he could easily begin to chew on it. Once he was comfortable, he took a deep breath and looked up.

Katrina was stunned when she saw her son come in. He was hunching over, subconsciously protecting his heart and closing his emotions to everyone. Even as he sat down, he couldn't look at her until he was in a mock fetal position. He was guarding himself from his own mother. Tearing her eyes away from his defensive posture, Katrina was not happy with what she saw. Hell, couldn't Quillsh feed the boy?! All that money and her son looked like a soldier returning from a POW camp with his bones jutting out. Those awful baggy clothes couldn't hide his condition from her sharp eyes. His, goodness, _bare_ toes clenched anxiously at the cushion of the chair he was sitting on. Didn't Quillsh at least buy him some damn shoes? Was that too much to ask? Looking further up to his gaunt face, Katrina was ready to beat Wammy over the head with her IV drip stand. Dark _bags_ under his eyes?! Really?!! Was that old fool torturing her precious son?

As L stared in awe at his stunning mother, he was a little shocked to see furry on her face. Was he _that_ repulsive, that much of a failure? Never mind the fact that he was the greatest detective of the century, his own mother was disgusted with him! Drawing his knees even closer to his bony chest, L gnawed on his thumb as he considered the next course of action. A trickle of blood slid down his abused thumb without his noticing.

Darting her tongue out to smear the blood on her thumb, Katrina forced herself to calm down and look L right in the eye. He was wide empty eyes and it was enough for the hospitalized woman. "What the hell did that bastard do to you?" she asked in strained calmness. Who knew if that man brainwashed her child as well. "If I had known that he was such an incompetent father, I would have never left you in his company."

L was taken aback; her words betrayed that she was anything but calm. "Watari has done nothing," he replied.

"Yes, and that's the problem," Katrina sighed. "He did nothing for you." Frowning, L kept from saying anything. She seemed to dislike Mr. Wammy and he had a sneaking suspicion that nothing he could say would change her mind. "Anyway, nice shot," she complimented as she pointed to her bandaged arm. "It's just a flesh wound."

That unpleasant feeling churned in his stomach again, but he controlled himself. "Watari taught me how to shoot when I was six and I have been practicing ever since."

"Mmmm, impressive. I didn't learn to shoot until I was sixteen."

"Why?!" L blurted out before clamping down on his emotions. Katrina seemed a little surprised at his outburst and he let the questions pour out before he could convince himself to remain silent. "I let you go last time, so why did you challenge me again? Why did you threaten an innocent girl? Why are you acting so casual about this whole situation?!"

Katrina stared at her child and grief nearly swallowed her. A sad smile curled on her lips. "I wanted to see you, L, that's why."

"That's it?" he whispered in confusion. "You broke laws and terrorized a child to see me?"

"Well," she scoffed, "it's not like I could call you and meet for tea and cakes."

L still didn't quite understand. "But-"

"Why did _you_ let me escape the first time?" she interrupted. The detective opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. She had stumped him. "Before you make silly attempts at reasoning, I'll explain." L nodded for her to continue. "I have embraced my emotions and there is no stronger emotion than motherly love. Mothers have murdered for their sons without a second thought only because of that love."

"That logic is flawed," L shot back, completely out of habit. "Lovers throughout history have committed heinous crimes for each other. Stating that only mothers would act in such a way is foolish."

Katrina laughed at his reply and easily explained. "Name one pair of lovers who would do such a thing from the moment they met to their dying breath, and fictional characters don't count. But…never mind; once you become a mother, you'll understand."

"But-"

"Exactly."

Silence hung between them as L carefully analyzed his mother. She was intelligent, young, attractive, and confident. How had she spawned a recluse like him? Why did she abandon him? Why did she want to see him now and not earlier? There were so many questions that he was dying to ask, but he felt like he should hold himself back. He did not know this woman and more importantly, he didn't feel like he could open up to her. L did not open up to anyone.

"Why would you want to see me now?" he asked slowly, allowing some bitterness to saturate his words.

Katrina looked down, unwilling to meet his gaze. "L, it would be impossible for you to understand everything (L snorted in disbelief), but I won't lie to you. I was forced to take extreme actions because I don't have much time left." She let the silence hang between them for a moment. L's wide eyes betrayed nothing. "I have ovarian cancer and it's already in the advanced stages. I will die without treatment, and even if I received treatment now, I might still die."

The news deeply shocked L, but he didn't let it show on his face or in his body language. All kinds of statistics ran through his mind, but a single childish thought pushed through. _'But it's not fair! I finally get her and she's going to be torn away from me because of a _disease_?!'_

"L?"

"Ah, so finding your son wasn't important until you found out that you were dying," he snorted. "You are the model of a perfect mother."

"Well, smart-ass, you can leave any time you want to. I'm not holding you back."

L bit his thumb aggressively. Damn it, she was calling him out on his emotions! Maybe he should walk out now, just to show her that he was not a sentimental idiot, that he had grown up and was stronger than she was. And then, that child in him spoke up again. _'I want my Mommy,"_ it demanded. "I still have a duty to interrogate you," he grumbled, "regardless of personal feelings."

"Ah, of course," Katrina replied with a knowing smile. "So, where would you like to begin your 'interrogation'?"

"In order to ensure an accurate profile, I need information from the beginning. Twenty seven years should be sufficient. What caused you to enter into the thieving business?"

Getting comfortable, Katrina leaned back and smiled. "Mmmm, that it an interesting story…"

~_~_~_~_~_

"Um, hey Matt."

The brunette looked up unhappily from his Mega-man game. Mello's three idiot friends who intoxicated him were now standing in front of him with uncertain looks on their faces.

"Look, if Mello forced you guys to make nice, I'm not interested. Just bugger off."

Chase took a step forward and shook his head. "Nope. After Mello punched me, he never said anything about it again. We're here because…"

"We hear that you're good with computers," Toby finished. "If you're interested, we'll pay you if you help us out with something."

Glancing between the three boys, Matt tossed the offer around in his mind for a few seconds. There was no reason for him to trust these meatheads, but then, they _were_ Mello's friends so they couldn't be too bad. And Toby was an artist so that meant that he had to be at least a little more intelligent than the other two. Not only that, but they were even offering to pay him, and money was always nice to have. What was the worst that could happen? Rolling his eyes he shut his game off. "Whatever."

"Great!" Chase exclaimed as the three of them shared a relieved look. "Come with us!"

Keeping his guard up, Matt followed the three boys. Soon, they were turning down the hall where the Letters resided. By now, most of the original Letters were gone; they were either dead or shipped out of Wammy's House after their 15th birthday. There were only two left and they rarely made appearances. Still, an unsettling feeling saturated the air, as if those children were haunting the hall, mourning their losses. Passing the familiar and dark room where B used to stay, Matt quickly glanced away and unsuccessfully attempted to suppress a shudder. That room ha a bad air about it and the memories weren't pleasant either.

"In 'ere," Evan whispered, stepping into another one of the darkened rooms. Once all four of them were inside, he turned on the lone computer that sat in the corner of the room. The rest of the room was bare, but the blinding light from the monitor seemed to fill the emptiness.

"So…what exactly do you need me to do?"

The other boys shared a glance before nodding. "We need you to hack through Wammy's firewalls and security so we can access a certain website," Toby stated flatly.

Lifting an eyebrow, Matt wondered what kind of website they would want to access that would require his developing hacking skills. "And what're you gonna pay me?" he snickered. "It better be something fucking fantastic."

Evan dug into his pocket and eagerly pulled out a crumpled Camel cigarette box. "Rumor's tha' ya like these," he stated triumphantly.

Just seeing the box made Matt's body react in need. An uncomfortable yearning flooded his veins and his fingers twitched eagerly. "Ok, here's the deal," Matt replied a bit hoarsely. "I can get you in, but there's no way to make it permanent. If my guess is right, I'll need to be monitoring the connection the entire time. That means, anytime you blokes want to access this site, I'll have to do the hacking. Get me a pack every time and I'm sold."

"How about a pack a week?" Chase suggested.

"A pack a week? Wait a minute, how often are you guys planning on getting on this website?" The boys all blushed and stammered for a few seconds. "…let me see that website," Matt deadpanned, a twinge of suspicion racing through his brain.

"Here," Toby mumbled, handing him a piece of paper with the URL scribbled messily.

Matt stared at it for a moment. "Big tits and ass dot com?" Before he could control himself, he busted out laughing. The other boys looked offended, but that only made him gasp harder, with tears pricking his eyes.

"Shu' up!" Evan hissed. "Th' rooms're mostly empty, but people are out there!"

It took a little bit, but Matt finally managed to settle for a few more giggles. "Ok, so you guys want to watch porn?" he sighed as he lifted up his goggles to wipe away the moisture threatening to spill out of his eyes.

"Please don't say anything to anyone," Chase begged. "We won't say anything about your smoking and you can even watch the porn with us!"

Scratching the back of his head, he considered the boy's offer. One, he would be able to keep up his healthy habit of smoking and two, he would get a chance to watch pornography. Any boy would be ecstatic. Thinking back to his problems with Mello recently, Matt came up with a rationalization. Maybe he was attracted to Mello because he was always spending his time with the blond. Add to that the fact that none of the girls here at Wammy's house were remotely attractive (compared to Mello, who could be?) he was just a sexually frustrated blooming young adult. Porn would be good for him! He would be able to get release from healthy heterosexual stimulation. He was not attracted to Mello. What a ridiculous thing for him to even consider!

"Well, are you in?" Toby asked a little impatiently.

With a big grin, Matt nodded. "Sure, I'm in."

A collective sigh of relief was heard before the four boys grinned widely at each other. They were in this together now.

~_~_~_~_~_

It was six in the morning before the "interrogation" wound down. L was nibbling on his thumb thoughtfully, and Katrina was content to just watch him. This was what she truly wanted. Understanding between them and a chance for them to come together once more. Although she had been shocked when she first laid eyes on him, looking at him now she couldn't be a more proud mother. Who cared if he was skinny and had a sugar fetish (she had her suspicions)? In the grand scheme of life would it matter if he was hunched over and sucking on his thumb at twenty two years of age? Oddly enough, he had managed to pick up more of her strange mannerisms than she wanted to admit. Still, it was adorable.

Their conversation had flowed easily. He wanted to know more about her and she will willing to bare it all for him. Well, almost all. She skimmed over the parts about her getting pregnant by Quillsh and refused to say anything about his father. He didn't seem to mind, though, and only asked more questions about her.

"Are you lonely?" she asked quietly as she watched him hold himself.

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "No. I have overcome such trivial things as loneliness."

"Hmmm, so I guess sex is out of the question for you?" L blushed and looked appalled by her question. "It _is_ normal for guys your age to already experience sex; you know that, right?"

"Of course!" he spat. "And although I may not be an attractive creature, I _have_ had some 'experience' in that!"

This tid bit surprised Katrina but she smiled kindly. There was still hope for her son! "Really? That's good. But you know, it's not your looks that are lacking."

"…" Was that supposed to be a compliment?

"I think that your social skills are what're holding you back. You don't trust people and you have no desire to be amongst them."

"There's nothing wrong with that in my line of work," L defended.

"But work isn't everything, Luna. Do you want to die having accomplished nothing in your life but work? Will you look back on your life and be filled with regret for not trying to experience all that life has to offer?"

"Don't you regret parts of your life?" L questioned.

Katrina smiled. "Yes. I regret not finding a way to keep you with me; I think that I gave up too easily and I have suffered for it. But, I never regret my decision to experience the full extent what life can offer. I've slept with many men, but you know what? That didn't make me any worse as a person. I was even able to learn more about how men think and that allowed me to be even more successful."

"Is that so?" L mumbled, trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying.

"And let me tell you something. All humans yearn for sex, so never be afraid to use that to your advantage. Getting into bed with someone is one of the easiest ways to manipulate, but be careful that you don't get cut by this double edged sword."

"…are you telling to go sleeping around…"

"Sure, why not?" she said with a wink. L just sweatdropped; he certainly had a strange mother. "Especially when you can get something out of it. Just use protection; you don't want some women claiming to have your kid a few years down the road."

"Ugh, please refrain from saying anything that repulsive again."

Katrina rose an eyebrow. "I thought you said you had some experience?"

L blushed as he realized his mistake. "Well…I never said I had experience…with…a girl," he mumbled as quietly as possible.

His mother let her eyes widen a bit and she couldn't help the naughty giggle. "Are you gay?" she whispered like a pre-teen girl asking her best friend a secret.

L tried to shrink into his seat a little more, but he found that he couldn't lie to his own mother. See, even he had some kind of standards. "I'm not quite sure that such a statement would be considered accurate or inaccurate at this point in time. A more accurate statement would involve some degree of uncertainty in the fact that although I have had experience in a sexual manner with an individual of the same gender that would automatically categorize me as a homosexual."

"So you're bi?"

"…perhaps an 'I don't know' would prove to be useful now?"

"Does Quillsh know?" she teased.

The young man snorted, remembering the slap that Quillsh had graced him with. "Not really. He suspected something, but I was able to engage his mind elsewhere."

A knock on the door startled the two of them. Almost immediately afterward, Mr. Wammy cracked the door open. "L, we will need to be leaving soon," he whispered. "The police want to get custody of her as soon as possible." With that, he closed the door again.

Blinking slowly, L began to wonder. Did he make a mistake in coming to see his mother? After all, she would be taken from him and they would probably never see each other again. She might even die soon. Looking down at her, he felt that same tightening in his chest. Even though he found it hard to open up to her, she was still his mother. She had always been the most important woman in his life, a woman that he dreamed about and even loved. That's why he couldn't lie to her and that's why he allowed his true self to peek out a little more than when he was around anyone else. No one else in the entire planet birthed him or loved him the way she did. No one even prostituted just to feed him; yes, she didn't mention that, but he knew. His distorted memories were enough. Katrina was unique and powerful and she was someone that he could learn from and be proud of.

"I may never see you again," he stated calmly. It wasn't a threat or something he was scared of. It was just a fact.

"That's true. I hope that you won't forget me though."

"Of course not."

Katrina looked down. "I suppose…well, it won't hurt asking. Could you bring yourself to give me a hug? You don't have to if you don't want to."

His toes clenched the seat cushion desperately, as if his body was stating that it wasn't going to move and engage in a pointless gesture. If she knew that she loved him and that he loved her, there was no need for the physical contact. Besides, he _hated_ touching people. However, her words rang true in his mind. Did he want to look back at his life and regret not experiencing life? Would he regret not hugging her one last time?

Sliding out of his chair, he carefully made his way to her side. He walked as if he were some stray animal, scared of any sudden movements or of any affection. Katrina never looked up and as he got closer he could see why. She was trying not to cry. L may have been a unique person, the greatest mind of the century, and even a spoiled rotten sugar addict, but he was one thing as well. His was a boy who missed his mother.

~_~_~_~_~_

Rain, it was always raining. Watching the droplets collect on the window before being blown off, L wondered what Watari was thinking. Was he angry that L had gone against his wishes and talked to Katrina? Was he tired of driving and flying? Regardless, it was all inconsequential. All that mattered was that he had solved another case, met with his mother, and was coming back to the closest thing he had to a home: Wammy's House. Undoubtedly Mello would come around to harass him and question him; that boy was extremely curious and his questions never ceased to amuse L.

"Are you ok?"

L turned his head to acknowledge Watari. "Yes, of course."

"On the plane I set up everything that you asked for."

"Thank you."

Watari spared a glance at his charge and raised an eyebrow. L had thanked him for perhaps the first time. "You're welcome."

It was almost guaranteed that the Succubus would receive time in prison for her numerous crimes, but that didn't mean that she had to suffer from her cancer in a dank cold cell. A few calls were all it took for Quillsh to send money from one of L's vast accounts to some top-of-the-line doctors. They were given the explicit order to treat her in prison and to make sure that she would be as comfortable as possible.

After a few minutes of silence, L spoke up again. "I think that I actually liked working with Wedy and Aiber." Pausing he nodded to himself. "Yes, I think it would be a good idea to call for their help in the future."

"They don't really seem to like each other much, though."

"There's a 99% chance that they're over past grievances and that they are now involved with each other."

Watari chuckled. "Is that so?"

"Yes. There's also a 97% chance that the next time we call them they will have broken up their involvement and will be eager to kill each other again."

* * *

**Heehee, I love hearing the way Matt thinks about things. Calling some geniuses "meatheads" because they like soccer or thinking that at least Toby was "smart" even though he's in an orphanage filled with **_**geniuses.**_** It's too awesome. I would also love some comments on what you readers thought about L's interaction with his mother. Was it believable?**

**As usual, please review, and if you spot any mistakes let me know so that I can fix them up!  
**


	25. Closer

**This chapter is dedicated to the most lovely lynarsiane for being a most wonderful person. :) Thank you to EVERYONE who's been reviewing/alerting/favoriting. Keep it coming and I'll keep working hard!  
**

**Dis****claimer: I do not own King Kong or Kleenex**

**

* * *

**Looking down at his pale hands, Near wondered if he could really go through with such a thing. Uncontrollably, his eyes lifted up to once more glance out the window where Mello was playing tag with some of the younger girls. They had been pestering him and it was either play dress up with them or tag. Of course, Mello had to salvage his pride in some way so he chose the tag. Still, it was a fact that he had accepted to play with the girls. He wasn't a cold heartless bastard.

Near smiled as one of the girls jumped on Mello's back, knocking him flat on his back. Just as quickly, the smile disappeared. He didn't want someone to walk in and see him grinning like a love struck fool; which is what he was. Tearing his eyes away from the scene of eight-year-old girls dog piling on top of Mello, Near sat down in front of his newest endeavor. It was a house built of cards, and it was proving to be entertaining. The simple and weak cards could be piled in a precise manner and it could make a stable building. Miniature building. Perhaps he could make it strong enough to hold up his gorilla doll. Twirling his hair, he thought that he could do a re-creation of King Kong. All he would need was a few more airplanes…

"Near!" a loud girl squealed.

The boy's frown deepened as he watched his card tower collapse under the burst of air from the door opening. His hand remained outstretched with a single card and he sighed inaudibly.

"Can I help you?"

"Why don't you come outside and play with us? Mello's going to have a competition!"

"I don't think I need to point out that I am in no condition to enter into any competition that involves physical work."

"You can just watch," she whined.

"That would be a waste of my time."

"Awww, come on! Even Roger is going outside to watch!"

Ugh, she never stopped shouting. "I'm perfectly fine by myself. Your feeble attempt at getting me to join the crowd through peer pressure has not succeeded. If you truly wish to join the pointless clamor over Mello showing off, then by all means, leave."

"You don't have to be such a jerk!" She sniffled a little. "And what's with you and Mello? You guys were so nice to each other, but now you won't even watch him? Are you that uppity? I bet that Mello just couldn't put up with you and your snobbish attitude anymore!"

Girls were so annoying. Mello was not. "Say whatever you like."

"I'll tell everyone that you pushed Mello away!"

"Okay."

"Don't you care at all?!"

"No." Dear Galileo, couldn't she take a hint. Shoo, go away.

"Well, Mello's better than you anyway!" She waited around waiting for a reply, but Near couldn't bother himself with her anymore. He had a tower to build or King Kong wouldn't have anything to climb. Soon enough, she decided that it would be a lot more fun to watch the boys frolicking outside. It was no big deal; besides, Roger was probably only out there to insure that no one broke their neck or that Mello didn't beat the crap out of anyone who might be unfortunate enough to beat him. His inferiority complex seemed to be getting worse.

"What are you doing in here?" a soft voice asked from behind him.

Near just rolled his eyes. People didn't seem to comprehend the fact that he enjoyed being inside instead of sweating outside. "I am constructing a replica of the Empire State Building with these playing cards."

"Are you an albino?" came the blunt follow-up question.

"No," Near replied, careful not to show his annoyance. "I was unfortunate enough to get Scarlatina as a child and was affected with a rare side-effect."

"Scarlet fever?

"Yes."

"How about your leg? Was that a side-effect of a disease too?"

What a nosy orphan. Didn't he know better than to ask questions about the past? "No."

"Care to expound?"

"…no."

There was a chuckle before the aggravating orphan shuffled closer behind him. Near refused to acknowledge the boy; if he turned around, he would only be encouraging the boy to try to carry a conversation with him. However, it seemed like this boy didn't need encouraging to continue talking. He just…kept going.

"It never leaves you know."

Sigh of not-so-eternal patience. "What never leaves?" You?

"The feel of those hands on your hips."

With a whisper, his tower collapsed again. "N-no," Near stuttered. He was faltering, damn it! No one knew about that, _no one_!! "I don't-"

Bony fingers darkened his view as the stranger leaned closer; it was almost as if he was going to ask "guess who?" "You always remember the smells. The harsh hands. Painful lips."

"You're wrong," Near forced out. He would not allow such a thing to rule his life. So what if he still suffered from the nightmares? In the end, he would win. "I don't feel the hands."

"No, of course not. You feel the broken hip. That's all that you need to feel."

Near supposed that he could have cried. He was only 10 years old, almost 11, so no one would blame him if he just curled up and cried. Or, he could have turned around and punched the guy behind him. Strangely enough, he did nothing of the sort. He just sat there with his eyes covered and the stranger's cool breath blowing gently against the back of his neck.

"I'm going to play now." He was no longer a precious little doll to be beaten and broken. Near, that's who he was; Nate River was buried.

"Very good." The thin hands fell away and for a moment the light stung at the boy's eyes. "You'll do well if you keep up that attitude."

Just as mysteriously as he had come, the stranger was gone. Near glanced back and caught the sight of ratty jeans and bare feet.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Score!" Mello screamed as he won again. All the kids cheered for him, even the opponents he had faced off with a few seconds ago. No one could be him; not at tag, or soccer, or tree climbing, or anything else that the excited young minds could come up with. He was the best. But then, all it would take was one look at the window where he knew Near would shyly peek out to watch and he would find himself getting upset. There was only one person who beat him.

"Great job!" Linda cheered, holding out a juice box.

"Yeah!" Jody squealed annoyingly. Fuck, she was always screeching. "You're just too awesome, Mello!"

Suddenly, he felt very tired. It had nothing to do with all the activities he had been participating in throughout the afternoon. Glancing to the side, he saw Roger fanning himself with a magazine as he lazily watched the kids running around. "Um, thanks."

"You're just too humble, Mello! It's really cute you know!" Insert annoying giggling.

"Sure," he replied, hoping that she would go away. Immediately, he caught sight of Matt. The brunette was standing in the doorway, smiling. Mello grinned in return; he knew that smile anywhere. "Hey, I'm gonna play with Matt for a bit," he declared, ignoring the other kids' groans of disappointment.

Taking in a deep summer breath, Mello sprinted to the building as fast as he could. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that his feet were pushing him higher and higher into the air, letting him fly away. With a crash, he landed giggling into Matt's embrace. The gamer groaned from the impact, but he didn't let go of his best friend. "Easy there, Fido," he teased.

"Shut up," Mello snarled good-naturedly. "What'd you get me?"

"Come in and I'll show you." Pulling apart, they headed towards the library. On such a fine and sunny day, no one would be hanging out in the musty old room.

By the time they got there, Mello was practically bouncing in excitement. "Let me see, let me see!"

Reaching into his oversized sweater, Matt pulled out a soft bar of German chocolate. Mello's mouth formed a little "o" of pleasure as he delicately took the treat from the younger boy. "Do you like it?"

"Let me taste it first," Mello mumbled. He almost looked guilty about tearing the beautiful wrapper, but once he did, his soft tongue dug into the warm chocolate, tracing the foreign letters before his teeth took out a chunk. "Oh, oooohm," the blond groaned in delight as he let his eyes slide shut. He always tried to make eating chocolate a perfect experience. Sensual even.

Matt just laughed. "I guess you do like it."

Mello nodded weakly before leaning against the wall for support. He kept his eyes shut as he continued to indulge his taste buds with the fine delight. "How do you do it?" he finally asked as he licked the runny chocolate off of his fingers.

"It's easy," Matt shrugged. "Mr. Wammy doesn't protect his 'hidden' supply of candy all that well when he arrives."

"Yeah, but still!" Mello looked up at the sweating boy. "Who taught you to steal, Mattie?"

The days of old flashed by quickly, but for Matt it wasn't easy to push away. He could bring up every memory of every day of his life from about age two, and those memories about his home in the States always brought that knot to his stomach. "I taught myself," he replied in what he hoped was a cocky tone.

Mello caught that look in his eye, even through the goggles. "Well you're damn good," he complimented. "Teach me!"

Matt shook his head. "Hey, if I teach you, then what use would I have?"

"I'm sure I could think of something," Mello giggled.

Nicotine's cruel and sweet urging sang through Matt's veins as he shifted his feet. "I'm going for a smoke. Wanna come with me?"

"Sure."

He didn't know why they always went there. Maybe he was a masochist or something. Regardless, ever since Mello found out about his smoking, the blond had dragged him into the dark and private room that used to be for B, the only successful runaway. Slowly, the other rooms where the Letters had stayed were being filled up with the other orphans, but this room was still feared. It was taboo to cross that threshold and yet Mello did it so easily, dragging along his poor scared buddy. Seriously, Matt was too old to believe in stupid things like ghosts or evil spirits, but things just happened in that room. A chair that used to sit against the wall would disappear for a day, only to be found in the middle of the room the next time they came in. Sometimes the bathtub was filled to the rim with hot steaming water, and Matt would swear that he could see faint writing on the steam covered mirror. Always, it always said Always. Maybe someone just needed to clean the damn thing.

Today, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but the adolescent chain smoker kept his guard up. He wasn't going to be gutted by a…something. Anything, really. Mello just hopped onto the stiff bed and laid with his limbs sprawled out. Finally letting his ugly hands peek out from their home in his sleeves, Matt lit up a slightly bent cigarette and took a deep breath. Pleasure went tingling down his arms before journeying through the rest of his body. "Fwooooo."

Mello closed his eyes and let his fingers ghost over the glass beads of his bracelet. "Mattie, are you going to hang out with your friends again?" he asked nonchalantly.

The American smiled as he recognized his friend's attempt to get more information out of him. "Yeah. Are you going to visit with Loyal?"

"Yeah. So, are you ever going to take me with you?"

Another lazy breath of smoke was exhaled before a reply could be made. "Maybe. Hey, I don't ask to go with you to see all of your friends."

A huff shot back. "Whatever." In all honesty, Mello got jealous. It had been a few months since Matt started hanging out with people other than him and although he had been happy at first, things changed. Matt didn't seem to need him as much anymore, and that bothered him. Sometimes, Matt wouldn't even bother telling him that he was going to hang out with some friends. It was really rude. "Will you lay here next to me?"

Looking at the bed in concern, Matt wondered if there was a curse on it. Well, that was silly. Mello had been on that bed a lot, and he didn't have any curses. He was still his pretty and perfect little self. So with a deep breath (of nicotine laden smoke of course), he hauled himself onto the uncomfortable bed. They stayed there for a while, quietly enjoying each other's company.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Why did you decide to become a detective?" Mello asked innocently as he looked through L's pile of donuts for a chocolate glazed one.

Flipping carelessly through the file in front of him, L wondered how he should answer that. He settled for a non-committal shrug. "It just happened."

"But how did you know it was the right thing? Like, the thing that you wanted to do for the rest of your life?"

"My being a detective makes sense. I'm good at it, and it gives me a purpose. Without a purpose, my mind would undoubtedly turn to more destructive means of expression."

Licking his newfound treat, Mello looked up. "I want to be a detective like you."

L chuckled. "It would be terrible if you didn't want to; after all, you are in the running to be my successor."

In the running. Those words stung at Mello because he knew that he was still second place, and to a younger boy at that. "I'm going to be first, you know. That way, you'll have to pick me as the successor."

"We'll see."

Mello munched away on his donut as he watched L continue to work. L looked bored as he flipped through the papers and the blond noted that the bags under his eyes seemed to have gotten darker. Frowning, he thought back to the days when he would watch B smear stolen eyeliner under his eyes. In those days, things seemed to be a lot less complicated. Everything was black and white, but once B left him, it was like his reality had been cracked beyond repair. Now things had become distorted. Where was B now? Was he happy or lonely? Did he cry? Was he dead? Shuddering at that thought, he quickly moved to settle between L's legs; the warmth of those bony limbs was comforting.

L was surprised when Mello ran to him and snuggled between his thighs, his back resting against L's chest. It always amazed him how much Mello needed physical contact in order to remain grounded, to control his insecurities and keep his mind in check. If the poor boy ever got separated from society he would surely go insane. Near wasn't like that at all. He was strong enough to hold himself up.

"Will you ever find B?" Mello mumbled.

Throwing the file he had finished reading behind him, L answered. "Eventually. B's not the type to hide."

Lifting up Mello's chin to face him, L leaned in and dragged his tongue over the corner of those soft lips where some chocolate had smudged.

~_~_~_~_~_

Panting filled Matt's ears. The room was already hot and he barely cast a glance to the side where the other boys were roughly jerking themselves off. In front of them, the small screen was filled with images of some chick being banged senseless by a few dudes. The woman was screaming loudly (not loud enough for anyone outside the room to hear, but loud enough) and her giant breasts were bouncing around.

Honestly, Matt wondered how she had managed to avoid getting a black eye by now. Those things were gigantic. Sighing quietly, he looked down at himself and he saw how…uninterested…his dick was in the whole thing. Those huge breasts were just gross. And she was a brunette. Ick. Chase made a small whine as his body tensed, but Matt didn't watch; he just slid the box of Kleenex over. Finally, that video was over.

"It's my turn," he claimed as he leaned over to pick the next video they were going to stream.

The other boys were too busy to reply. Licking his lips, Matt scrolled down the selections looking for just the right one. Nope, nope, nope, no- oh! Yes, _that_ one. Clicking on the play button, he leaned back and watched as the scene unfolded. Not caring for the cheesy opening, he clicked forward until they got to the part he liked best. She was beautiful. Tanned skin that wasn't too dark, taught thighs, flat belly, modest breasts, and best of all, long golden hair. The caption said that he name was Annika, but he didn't really care. All that mattered was what she did to him. Her lean back arched as she rode on top of the inconsequential guy and her oiled body glistened sexily. Lifting herself up and then dropping down, repeat, repeat, roll hips, repeat. Stroking the front of his jeans, Matt sighed shakily as he felt himself growing hard already. Yes, he definitely liked Annnika, but she wasn't perfect. Her hair was too long and would get in the way if they were really trying to have sex. This was all just scripted, so of course not a hair would be out of place. Nope, he liked shorter hair. And maybe hips that weren't so wide. Oh, and her eyes would be better if they were blue instead of ugly brown.

Biting hard on his lip, Matt reached into his pants and closed his eyes to savor the picture running through his mind. Kissing, they were kissing. He loved seeing kissing because it was intimate, and he always imagined that he could be the sappiest kisser on the planet. So, he imagined them kissing and his hands running over the slick body. Oh, he would love to feel that heat envelop his body and those thighs trembling in pleasure. He would be gentle of course, 'cause it was their first time and he wanted it to be memorable. Those eyes would beg for more and those reddened lips would always whisper, "Oh, Mattie."

"Mello…" Pumping frantically, Matt shot his eyes open and gasped as his release finally came. Exhaustion quickly followed, weighing down his limbs.

"What'd you say?" Chase asked lazily as he looked over at the red-faced hacker.

"N-nothing," Matt stumbled. Shit, he did it again! It was just getting worse and worse! "Are you guys done now?" he snapped a little irritably.

"Sure," Toby muttered, sliding the box of tissues to Matt.

Wiping his sticky hand angrily, Matt couldn't help but wonder why. Why didn't those weird thoughts of Mello go away? After months of doing this, he had watched countless porn videos with all shapes and sizes of women. Okay, so what if he didn't like big breasts or big asses? He just preferred more natural looking girls! But then, every time he watched those, his thoughts would just slide right back to Mello. Blushing, he recalled that he had caught Mello naked a few weeks ago in the shower; he had walked in, right as Mello pulled the curtain aside to grab his towel. It was humiliating to say the least, but it also didn't improve his situation. Now he just had more fodder for his strange fantasies. Great.

"Wanna do it 'gain on Sundee?" Evan asked as he tucked himself back into his slacks.

"Sure," the other boys agreed. Matt just nodded.

"Oh, here's your pack," Chase yawned as he tossed the crushed box to Matt. "Sorry it's late, but those things are damn hard to get."

"Thanks."

~_~_~_~_~_

Mello took his time walking to his room. Most of the younger kids were already in bed, and the rest of the orphans were being herded into their rooms. He watched as one of the kids clutched the nanny's hand tightly. Was he like that?

"Where were you?"

The voice surprised him. Looking at the bottom of the stairs, he saw Near looking up at him with those owlish eyes. His new pajamas were just a tad too long and the sleeves hung over his hands the way that Matt liked to have his shirts. "Why should I tell you?" Mello challenged, the air filling with tension.

"Because I asked."

Mello took a step closer to the boy. "Well I don't give a shit if you asked. I'm not gonna answer."

Near just looked at him calmly. It was unnerving, but Mello didn't want to back down. Only a few months ago they were close friends, comforting each other, kissing, and holding. And now they were doing this, having a petty staring contest.

"It's just a simple question," the pale child whispered.

"Loyal. I was just visiting with Loyal."

The younger boy's round face tilted slightly up. "Is he a…Letter?"

"He works under Mr. Wammy," Mello sighed, looking away from Near. He was getting exhausted from just standing there. All he wanted to do now was curl up in bed with Matt and sleep. "Are you done with the interrogation, backstabber?"

A small finger carefully curled a strand of hair near his temple. "I apologize for my rudeness."

Huffing, Mello walked down, and brushed past him. Near would not make him weak, he would _not_ get under his skin. Mello was the best and he could handle this. He didn't have to be so damn sensitive; he would just get even and hurt Near the way that he was hurt. However, just as he passed, Near reached out and caught his wrist. It jerked Mello to a stop, surprising him. "What the heck do you want now?" he hissed, turning around to face the shorter boy.

Near replied with his actions. He carelessly leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mello's, not at all caring that they were in public where anyone could see what they were doing. Mello's hair nearly stood on end in surprise, but he quickly recovered. How dare this little twerp force a kiss on him after what happened?! How dare he even think that Mello was going to just take it? But instead of shoving Near away and giving him a shiner, he grabbed a hold of the boy's face and opened his mouth. Mello didn't know why he did it, but he just did. Their tongues met, and their mouths caressed, but almost as soon as it started, it was over. Mello walked away angrily, and Near sat on the steps and continued to curl that strand of hair.

* * *

**Hehehe, I hope that this chapter was enjoyable. Their relationships with each other are growing and I think that's an important thing to keep in mind. Just as much as this story is about their pasts and their emotions, it's also very much about the complexity of their relationships. **

**Also, fyi, I searched the internet for a cause of Near being all white. I didn't want to use albinism because it's over used and he doesn't carry all of its symptoms. So, in my search, I came across a strange case where a young boy caught scarlet fever and his hair fell out and was replaced with white hair and it said that his nails fell out and he was covered in pale skin. Well, Near's nails are intact, but I thought that the case was plausible enough for me to use it as a template. If anyone's really interested, I can send you the link to the page. **

**Please feel free to review! I didn't go through to edit this at all, so there's bound to be mistakes. Just point them out and I'll get right on it!  
**


	26. Uses of Time

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, Pokémon, Kleenex, or Game Boy.**

**

* * *

Because you don't have an account, K, or would rather not share it, I would like to take a moment to write you a reply and this is the only way I might get you to read it. I highly doubt it, from the review you wrote, but nonetheless I hope you do read it. First, I'll put your review up as well so that others who might read this aren't left wondering what the hell I'm talking about. For the other readers, I apologize for taking up space to do this. Feel free to skip over to the actual story.**

**From: K ()**

**Jesus fucking christ, enough with the misogynistic bullshit already. You  
should not be able to see so clearly into the author's own prejudice as you  
can with this story. I cannot believe Mello or Near would fall prey to  
thinking one sex is better or more annoying than the other, nevermind both of  
them. It is obvious YOU hate girls and find them annoying, but I didn't come  
to read about YOU. I stopped reading this chapter less than halfway through.**

**I used to look forward to reading this story, but if you want to insult girls  
for being girls every fucking time they show up (with the exception of your  
Mary Sue character), well, I've got better things to do with my time.**

**From: Me**

**-------------------**

**I'm actually quite surprised at how ignorant you sound. Yes, you used fancy words, but I almost chuckled when I read what you were accusing me of. First off, I **_**do not**_** have a problem with girls. There are annoying ones and there are ones who are fine. The same goes for guys. Everyone feels that way. Second, I am writing about pre-teen boys; boys this age usually still think that girls have cooties and while Mello and Near **_**are**_ **geniuses, they are still children. So it only goes to reason that it's not surprising if they're a little put off by a screaming and all around annoying girl. Thirdly, Near and Mello do not hate all girls. They really dislike **_**one**_** girl. Notice that Mello did not say **_**anything**_** negative about Linda. He was just annoyed at the girl who was yelling. Also, Near's annoyance stemmed from the fact that the girl wouldn't go away. Notice that he also got annoyed when a **_**boy**_** came into the room to question him. I will admit that he did state that "girls were annoying" and his reasoning is that they tend to be more intrusive. Guys usually get the hint to leave, but girls will stick around. He didn't hate them for playing with dolls or playing tag with Mello. Near was fine with those girls because they were far away. Besides, he said that girls were annoying, and Mello was not. He did **_**not**_** say that girls were annoying and **_**boys**_** were not.**

**You also accuse me of insulting girls for being girls every time they show up. What about Wedy? Did I insult her for being female? Did I make her whiny and annoying? No. She was a powerful woman who was tough enough to dish out some punishment to L. I fail to see how that's insulting her. And I can only assume that you have taken to childishly insulting my OC Katrina by calling her a Mary Sue. I fail to see how she can be considered that.**

**I would like to point out one more thing. Throughout the entire Death Note series, what are women portrayed as? Sluts. Idiots. Easily manipulated. Inferior to men. Yes, they really are. And the strong women like Wedy and Naomi? Well, they died, didn't they? They both lost to Light, a man (who, by the way, constantly commented on how women were stupid and easily manipulated because of their feelings). Now I ask you this. Why are you even a fan of Death Note? I assume you are a fan since you read its fanfiction, but really, how can you insult me and my work for something that can be found in the very canon story that I am writing from? Do you accuse Tsugumi Ohba of hating women?**

**All in all, I'm sorry that you feel this way about my story. I have worked hard to try to show the various aspects of humans through these characters. If you get angry that I show the ugly side of people finding others annoying, I'm sorry. That's not going to change. Thank you for your support up 'till now, and I hope that you will reconsider reading my story. If not, then have a good day.**

* * *

B watched someone die on that cool autumn morning. He was a businessman, hurrying along, yelling on his cell phone. Such a monstrous contraption. His name was Benjamin Stock and at exactly 8:17 a.m. he stepped out into the street when a speeding car turned the corner in order to beat the red light. It was messy of course, blood and gore splattered wonderfully on the broken windshield and the man lying crooked on the street with his belly sliced open like a fish. People screamed and begged for help and the driver sat in the car with a dazed expression, but B did nothing. He only watched the scene unfold. Yes, he could have put out his arm and held the man back, but why would he? After all, it was the man's time to die, so why should he do anything about it? Who was he to deny the cosmic countdown that signaled the end of man's time?

However, he had noticed something quite interesting. It was a rare phenomenon, one that he hadn't been prepared for when he saw it. Certain people would die before their time was up. Granted, he had only seen it twice in his entire life, but it was still curious enough to gain his attention. They didn't die by suicide, and even then, those who committed suicide changed their destiny and the countdown would reset. No, those persons he saw had plenty of years left in their lives and boom, they were gone by a heart attack.

Yawning, Beyond walked past the grisly scene of a woman trying to save the businessman and walked up the steps of the Los Angeles Central Public Library. They didn't open until 10:00 a.m., but he enjoyed sitting at the barred gates under those curious words: "Books invite all. They constrain none." Squatting down with his back against the cool stones, B flipped open the book he had checked out. It was a book on the different theories of the afterlife.

There was the usual heaven and hell stuff, but there were some other interesting ideas. There was the idea that once a man died he would get his own world to rule and the more women he married in his life on Earth and the more children he had, the bigger the world he would get. And then there was the Buddhist Rebirth, the idea that there is no irreducible self tying different lives together but that at the death of one personality a new one can come into being (and not always as a human). Hindu's idea of reincarnation, that one would be born again and again into the world until they reached enlightenment or rather a true understanding of self in which they no longer desire the limited happiness of the mortal world which would lead to them not being reborn again, was interesting in that not all schools of Hindu could agree on what exactly happened after a soul stopped being reborn. Some believed that the soul would spend eternity absorbed in the perfection of the realization that all existence is One, and others thought that the goal was to spend eternity in a loka in the company of the Supreme being. Those were just a few of the theories. He had spent hours and hours studying the different theories, but one seemed to strike him as odd. MU, an abstract idea far different from the others.

Even stranger, he found the vast amount of religions/theories of the afterlife included higher beings that could affect the mortals during their time on earth. Although he had heard of such things as a _god_, B never gave it much thought before. To the orphans their only god was Mr. Wammy and his "son", the savior of all mankind was L. Bratty Ice Princess L, who he called a Shinigami.

"Sir, we're open," called out a pleasant voice.

Looking up, B called at the familiar librarian. She wasn't nosy and didn't ask a bunch of annoying questions, so he went to her if he needed help. Nodding, he got up and cracked his back before giving one last glance to the side of the street where the police were cleaning up what was left of the accident.

"_Isn't that horrible?"_

"No, it's not," he mumbled as he scratched his head and shuffled into the large building.

"_Don't be such a beast."_

"Shut up A."

As he sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair for the next five hours, B didn't really expect to find anything unusual or useful, but with the simple flip of a page he was struck by an image. Black and white twisted together on a page, showing a grotesque figure leaning from the sky and looking down at the screaming mortals. The concept wasn't what was quite so shocking to him since he had seen it before; it was the eyes of the creature. Glancing down at the captions, he became even more intrigued. "A death god using its evil eye to glance into a person's soul. Some believed that the death god could even see how long they had left in life and would kill them early for amusement."

"Evil eye, is it?"

Adding the book to the top of his to-check-out pile, B dug through the rest of the text piled haphazardly on his desk. It only took him two minutes to skim through the books and add a few more to check out. Sliding off the chair, he hauled all twelve books to the desk where the pleasant brunette would check him out. Her name was Bethany Lee Smith.

"I see that you found quite a few more books to your liking," she acknowledged as she rang up his card. "Oh, we got this new book in and I thought you would be interested in it.

Reaching over, he plucked it out of her hands with his thumb and forefinger. _Looking Through the Grave: What Near Death Experiences Can Teach Us_ was sprawled neatly on the slate grey cover. Flipping it open, he scanned a few pages before nodding. "Add it to my list, please." Yes, he must remember to be polite.

She smiled at him and scanned in the book. "There, all done! Have a nice day."

Nodding, he grabbed the bag Bethany placed all his books neatly in and walked out of the library. By now, the scene of the accident was all cleaned up and cars were carelessly driving over the spot where the man named Benjamin Stock died. In some ways it was tragic, but B couldn't help but laugh. Humans were so pathetic indeed. Their meaningless little lives would flicker out so very easily. Thinking that his life could be flickered out that way too only made him laugh harder. But enough, he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself.

His feet carried him mindlessly to the same park bench he had sat on for a while now. For him, it was the perfect place to think. People walked by, never noticing him and he could see death all around. It was the perfect atmosphere, really, for him to come up with his plan. The plan that involved so much more than just committing a crime. No, he needed to commit _the_ crime, one that would draw the little Princess in and trap him. Curling his legs underneath himself, B shook his head. First things first. There was a grocery list to plan before he could continue to formulate his crime; jam was needed, some bread, a little bit of tea, an extra set of dishes (since he threw them all against the wall in a fit of rage), and some more jam. There, grocery list finished. On to plotting.

"Hi there, Ryuzaki," came a familiar and sad little voice.

Glancing over he saw the short figure of a girl. "You're early, Kennedy." There was a bruise on her cheek today.

"Yeah, the teacher's let us out early today." She hopped up on the bench next to him. "We were talking about the bodies of bugs and got done early."

"That's nice."

Sighing, she leaned on his arm and closed her plain brown eyes. It had become a habit for them; she would get out of school, depressed and sad, and then she would come and sit on the bench and tell him all of her problems. He would listen and nod, give her a shoulder to cry on, and then she would leave to go home. B didn't want to think of himself as growing soft, but he would rather this girl come complain about all of life's woe to him than to some other hobo that could rape and kill her. He was not an advocate for needless killing. However, killing with a purpose was fine by him, and he had been doing quite a bit of that lately.

"_Killing is killing, and you know it."_

Beyond had to push that little voice away sometimes.

"_They killed Olga for a purpose didn't they? Are you saying that her death was fine? What about all those people who died in the Games for the 'purpose' of entertainment? You're smarter than that B, you are!"_

Yes, that voice could be annoying sometimes. He would always remind B of unnecessary things and refused to understand how important his work was. L would fall, and all the orphans would go free! Wasn't that good enough to balance out the death of a few? If he didn't experiment now and get things worked out before he put his plan into action, it could fail! And failure was not an option. He needed to prove that a Letter could defeat _the_ Letter. See? It all worked out.

"I shared lunches with Christine again," Kennedy stated, her eyes still closed. "She said that my Mama was a great cook."

"What did you think of her food?"

"Oh, I didn't try any of hers," she giggled. "I didn't want to be rude."

He could have told her that she was just being used by this Christine, but Beyond didn't want to give her another reason to be upset. She really did believe that she had finally found a friend, and it would be harsh to destroy that for her. Little broken children like her needed to believe in something, and he wasn't about to take that away. As long as she was happy, it didn't matter if the little bitch stole her food. "Well, that was thoughtful of you."

"Oh, and she has this super nice brother! He's already 13 and he still came to visit her. He even gave me and Christine some candy!"

"What's his name?"

"Tommy," she replied.

"Hn."

After a few minutes he nudged her and she sat up. It was time for her to go home. "I'll see you tomorrow," she yawned, stretching out her little body up to the sky.

"I'll be here," was the simple reply.

Adjusting her plastic backpack, she trodded away, and B was left to work out some more details. "Hmmm, I think I _will_ use Wara Ningyo dolls."

~_~_~_~_~_

Fall passed quickly at Wammy's House. It was the season of sugar and pranks and poor Roger had more than enough to deal with. Ghouls, goblins, turkeys, and damn leaves everywhere. But, the children found it all entertaining and when they were happy, Quillsh was happy. Add to that the fact that Near and Mello were still learning at break neck speed and Mr. Wammy was able to give them actual cases that L had already solved. Roger was worried that showing the children such horrible things at such an age would ruin them.

"They'll be fine, Roger," Quillsh chuckled. "These are cases that L had solved when he was nine!"

"Yes, and look at how he turned out," Roger grumbled.

This only seemed to make the stubborn old man laugh harder. "Don't worry so much! I have the fullest confidence that they will excel."

And they did. It was like a game for the two of them, and the old caretaker didn't have the heart to break that illusion. Instead, he turned his attention to the situation that was Matt. The young American had been withdrawing more and more from everyone in the House except a select few. He had grown skinnier than ever at his stay at Wammy's and he had even been caught smoking twice. The boy had refused to say where he got the cigarettes, and no punishment had been enough to deter him. It had been especially difficult to come up with a punishment for the emotionless child. He had a mind that a good switching would do the boy some good, but all the scars splashed across his little body was enough to deter Roger from doing that. The last thing he needed was for the boy to suffer another emotional breakdown.

Having no other choice, Roger resorted to taking the boy's games away. At first, Matt just shrugged it off, but two hours of having nothing to do with himself had him trying to break into Roger's office. The caretaker had to drag him away, kicking and screaming and ended up adding a grounding to his sentence. When he got back to his office, Roger found that some hellion (Mello was the suspect immediately), had broken into his office successfully and had managed to snatch the game. The poor man's job was never done.

"Thanks Mello," Matt whispered from under the blankets where he was playing his game.

Mello looked down at the lumpy sheets and smiled widely. "No problem. Loyal showed me how to break into the door."

Hearing that person's name deflated Matt's joy. He had been trying to come to terms with the fact that Mello had another friend whom he liked to spend a lot of time with, but it hadn't been working at all. In retaliation, he tried to increase the time he spent watching porn with his _other_ friends, but Mello would huff and spend even more time with Loyal! It wasn't working! And now that evil being had helped to save his game?!

"Wanker," he mumbled under his breath.

"Did you say something?" Mello whispered as he peeked under the blanket.

"Uh, no!" Biting his lip, and letting his Charizard die in the process, Matt tried to come up with a plan to get Mello to pay more attention to him. It was useless to try to get used to having less Mello, and he accepted that now. The harder he tried to forget Mello, the crazier his dreams and "happy time thoughts" got. He still blushed just imagining about the things he had thought about doing to Mello in the heat of the moment. He wasn't even 13 for crying out loud! So, he had _another_ plan, and this one was sure to work. If pushing Mello away wasn't working, then maybe he had to pull Mello back in! It was genius, really. Flicking his game off, he tried to think of the best way to go about implementing his plan.

Casually ask Mello if he wanted to hang out with his other friends

Mello would say yes, of course

He would show Mello what they did

Mello would partake of their guy time

Matt would be on the opposite room, so that he wouldn't have any more fodder for his sick imagination

Mello would hang out with the other guys

His mind would be forced to realize that Mello was just another one of the guys

No more jealousy, no more weird fantasies

Problem solved

Yup, he was sure that he could do that. Maybe his real problem was that he still didn't see Mello as just one of the guys. He had been precious and beautiful from the very beginning and that was what was screwing him up! Guys didn't think of each other as "precious" and least of all as "beautiful". Nope, Mello needed to become "cool" and "strong". Something like that.

"Hey, Melly?"

Mello stuck his head under the blanket again. "Yeah?"

"How would you like to hang out with me and my friends? You know, like, I'll show you what we do?"

A blinding smile spread across Mello's face and Matt could feel his face burn and his flesh stiffen. "Really?! You mean it, Mattie?!"

"Shhhhh," he giggled. "And yeah, why not!"

Mello planted a kiss on top of his head and nodded his head eagerly. "Yes! Can we go tomorrow?"

Matt sighed happily. "Of course…"

Yes, he wasn't doing this because he was jealous of Loyal. Nope, he was just looking for the cure to his weird condition.

~_~_~_~_~_

"So, that was the first time I had to deal with a situation like that. Are you even listening, Mello?" L asked with a frown. Mello had been bouncing off the walls excitedly even before he had his daily dose of chocolate. Now, he was staring off into the distance with this strange happy look on his face. It was quite disturbing.

"Oh, sorry, L!" he replied with a sheepish smile. His lanky limbs were sprawled out on the cushioned chair across from the pallid man and his t-shirt had some smudges of chocolate on it. "I just can't concentrate!"

"Could you explain why you are speaking in exclamations?" the older of the two questioned as he took a bite out of the donut at the end of his sweet-kabob.

"Well, Mattie _finally_ asked me to hang out with him and his friends!"

"Hmmm, what does this 'hanging out' consist of?"

"I dunno. Probably playing video games, or something like that."

"Then won't you be bored?" he asked before taking another large bite from the sugary delight. "Chew don'k like fiddo chains."

Mello laughed at how that came out. "Well, I know I don't really like video games, but I can handle it this once. See, I've been waiting for him to ask me for a long time, and so it doesn't matter _what_ we do as long as we do it together!"

L gulped loudly. "It sounds like the two of you are getting married or something," he stated flatly.

"It's not that," Mello giggled as he threw some jelly beans at the young man. "I just don't like it when he has secrets from me, and this was a big secret."

"Children," L huffed as he looked at his light brown tea, "I don't understand them. Such strange ideas."

"You were a child too," Mello stated. "Oooh, I bet you were really cutes!!! Do you have any pictures?!"

"Absolutely not," L deadpanned. "I refuse to allow you to see the evidence of my…youth."

"Awww, why not? Wait, are there pictures of you running around in your diaper or something?!" Insert a, not-so-manly-squeal of delight. "I wanna seeeeeeeee!!!"

Mello tackled L, knocking them both off of the chair, where they proceeded to engage in a tickle fight to the pain.

~_~_~_~_~_

"I didn't know this place existed," Mello muttered in awe, as Matt led him into one of the hidden rooms he had discovered. Since the rooms that once housed the Letters were being taken over, the boys had been forced to find a new place for their activities. Once this little room was discovered, it had been easy enough to move the computer and splice some wires for their internet connection.

"It's pretty cool, isn't it?" he replied proudly.

"Uh huh."

Once they got through, they greeted the three boys that were already there. "Hey, I brought Mello along," Matt started.

The other three grinned and welcomed him in. "Hey there, Mello!"

The blond grinned and waved to them before taking in the small musty room. There was a single flickering lightbulb overhead and hardwood floor that they had to sit on. Other than that, there was only a computer and a box of Kleenex. Although he thought it was strange, he didn't say anything for fear that he would be kicked out of their group.

"Le' get starte'," Evan said.

Matt nodded. Motioning to Mello to follow his lead, he sat in front of the computer and started his hacking. "Hey," he whispered, "just follow along with what the other guys do, ok? I mean, I'm sure you've already started masturbating, but this stuff really helps out."

Looking at the other boys and the back at Matt in confusion, Mello had to force himself to keep quite. He didn't want to look stupid for not knowing what masterapatation was. If all of these guys knew and he could just follow along, things would just go smoothly and no one would ever have to know that he had been lost. Yep, it would all work out.

"Sure," he whispered back to Matt.

"Got it!" Matt cheered. "Hey, give me my smokes first and then we can do this." Chase threw him a half-empty pack, but the brunette didn't complain. He was too nervous. "Alrighty then, let's get this party started."

Matt scooted back to get out of the way, so that everyone could easily see the screen, but he was horrified when Mello scooted over beside him. Trying to hide his panic, he took a few deep breaths and just tried to stare at the screen. That's right; as long as he didn't see Mello jerking off he would be fine. Yup. Absolutely motherfucking okay.

…shit. That thought was more than enough to do the job.

Mello, on the other hand was waiting a little nervously. The little box on the screen showed the words "loading" and then it stopped being black. Some lady was standing on a corner of the street in a really _really _short plaid skirt and her brown hair was up in pigtails. She had a cigarette in her hand and the blond couldn't help but chuckle because it just reminded him of Matt. And then, the camera started to pan around and it almost looked _up_ her skirt! He felt himself blush at that; this wasn't any kind of game he was familiar with at all.

And then the unthinkable happened. She followed this one guy into the alley and then…she…got on her knees and took his ugly cock into her mouth. Mello's eyes grew to the size of saucers and he quietly covered his mouth in disgust and shock. GROSS!!!!! Why in the world would anyone want to put their mouth on that?! You go pee-pee with that! Even worse, why were they watching that?! Glancing over at the other boys, Mello was shocked even further. All of them had their hands down their pants and were touching themselves while watching the gross movie. The young blond thought that he was going to die right there.

"_I-is this masterapatation?"_ he wondered before biting his lip.

Glancing over at Matt shyly, his blushed deepened to a near maroon shade. The brunette had his eyes closed as both scarred hands stroking his member beneath his sweatpants. There was a rose-colored blush painting his cheeks and his perfect teeth worried his lower lip until it too was a bright red. It was such an alluring yet naughty sight and when Mello finally turned his eyes away from his best friend, he was dismayed to discover that his own body had done exactly what everyone else's was doing. The girl on the screen made a bunch of weird sounds and she was now on her back with her legs spread wide open. The man immediately plunged into her body and Mello squeaked in surprise and worry. Didn't that…hurt? Her screaming made him think so, but then she started telling the guy to do it harder and faster. The whole scene was making him sick to his stomach.

Breathing heavily, he cast another glance at Matt whose hands were working even faster. His eyes screwed shut and he started panting louder. Mello gulped and watched, entranced by this scene. He had never seen Matt act this way and it was making him feel really funny. And then, Matt gave out a high-pitched whine and curled up a little while pulling himself out of his pants. White stuff came out of Matt's swollen member and Mello felt himself tremble in…delight? Matt's eyes slowly opened and Mello had to quickly look away before getting caught. After all, none of the other boys were staring at each other. Matt sighed and leaned over to grab the Kleenex box before cleaning himself off.

It was so difficult for the blond to keep his eyes off of Matt's exposed body. After all, it wasn't all gross like the man on the television. It was kind of big and there were only a few brown hairs sticking up at the base. But, he wasn't given any view of it as Matt quickly tucked his now clean cock into his pants. Mello just stared at the wall behind the computer as Matt sighed in disgust.

"_Great,"_ he grumbled in his mind. _"Mello just _had_ to sit next to me, didn't he? It wasn't enough that he was going to be in here and jerking off, but he's going to be doing it next to me."_

Peeking up, Matt was surprised to see the crimson blush on Mello's face and his hands clenched tightly at the edge of his shirt. Why wasn't he-? And then he looked down and saw the wet spot. "Ah, shit, Melly, you got jizz on your pants," he whispered hoping to spare Mello the mockery of the other guys. So that's why he was so embarrassed! He came before even getting to touch himself!

Mello looked down at his pants and stared at the little wet spot. What in the world was that? Why did he feel all wet and gross down there? "Eh?" he found himself whispering.

"Here, you got to try to clean yourself up," Matt explained as he grabbed a few tissues. "Use these to wipe yourself off." Mello just stared at the tissues with a dazed expression. "Shit, give it to me," he grumbled. Biting back the feelings that wanted to swell inside, he reached into Mello's pants and cleaned him up before anyone could notice. Not only would Mello be made fun of, but the guys would call him gay or other shit like that for putting his hands down the blond's pants.

By the time they got out of their little session, the three friends were talking about how hot the girls were in these new videos while Mello and Matt just walked silently to their room. Mello jumped face-first onto his bed and Matt tried to focus on his Game Boy. After a few futile minutes, he decided that his time would be better spent taking a nice long shower. Now that his plan had mostly failed, he had a lot more fodder for his sick imagination. Yes…he'd be in the shower for a _long_ time.

* * *

**Author's Notes: When I read the words above the door at the Los Angeles Public Library, I found it rather intriguing. When looking at it in light of Death Note, it made me think of the Death Note itself. It invites the mortals to try it, even if it's just once, and there are no limits with what you can do once you decide to use it. :) Well, obviously it has rules, but there on no constraints on using it for "good" or "bad". Just a thought.**

**Oh, and if you don't recognize the phrase "to the pain" (mentioned during the tickle fight), it's from **_**The Princess Bride**_**. If you Google it, you can get the full description from the Useless Movie Quotes website. XD**

**Um, somehow I felt that this chapter was written a little weirdly. I really got bothered by K's review and so I think that it threw me off my game a bit. Oh well, all you guys' awesome reviews are sure to put me back on track again. But, I really want to know what you guys thought about the masterapatation session! (Yes, I purposely misspelled that) Also, feel free to point out grammatical errors. Please review, and a GIANT thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/faved/alerted this story. **

**Next chapter: Now, as much as I hate to do it, this story must move along. The majority of the chapter will revolve around what really happened from July 31, 2002 until August 22, 2002. **


	27. LABB

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, Clorox, Hefty, Pocky, or **_**Another Note**_**. I took a lot of stuff right out of the book in order to get this to flow right, so don't sue me for plagiarism (or whine about it). You'll see what I mean. :)**

**Also, this gigantic chapter is dedicated to a few of my lovelies. HoshisamaValmor, ChocolateCrackhead, and lynarsiane, thank you all. This chapter was possible, especially because of you guys. **

**And I can't go further without a GIANT thank you to EVERYONE who reviewed last chapter. I can't think of a time I ever felt as appreciated in my entire life. Thank you guys for that. **

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* * *

  
**L stared outside of the window to the glittering morning of summer. Soon the children would be heading outside to play and he would be turning his attention to the cases that were strewn about the warm room. But still, there was something bothering him. Looking over at the cases lying on the floor, he scratched the back of his head.

Something was going to happen.

He knew that such sentiments were foolish, that just _feeling_ something was illogical. After all, there was no such things as the supernatural and he had been taught to use his brain to figure things out. He did not feel things out. _"Except that one time with Beyond,"_ his psyche reminded him. Foolhardy. And yet, he could not shake the feeling off; his mind continued to reason that such phenomena's such as seeing into the future or getting psychic readings all _did_ use the brain, and thus his feeling goosebumps over something completely unknown was rational. Maybe his brain was short-circuiting?

Feeling that a slice of melon would do him good, L shuffled towards his treats not at all caring that he was treading his files underfoot. Once he reached the table full of food, L noticed that there was a mirror situated at about the level of his head. Curious, he hadn't noticed it before. Which was _really_ odd, because L noticed everything. L turned his head to look at it, and it promptly cracked. Then it fell down, shattering against the hardwood floor. Watari came running in to see what the matter was, but L just stared at his nicked feet. As a few drops of blood rolled down, he snorted to himself. If _that_ wasn't some superstitious sign, then he didn't know what was.

"What's today's date?" he asked his caretaker.

Watari looked taken aback since L surely knew the answer. Still, he replied. "It's the 22nd, Lawliet. July 22, 2002 to be exact."

~_~_~_~_~_

**July 31, 2002**

It was finally time to set his plan into motion. He had been watching Believe Bridesmaid for three months now, and none of it had been a waste. Every habit that unaware man had was etched into his memory banks and as the numbers counted down, a chill made its way through Beyond's spine. It was going to be too easy, but that was fine. Simple and perfect. There would be no mistakes on his part. A wicked grin split across his face as he poured the drugs into Believe's water pitcher. The colorless agent swirled around, infusing into the life giving liquid. Just a few more minutes.

Quietly, B slipped into the shadows of upstairs and awaited his prey. The man he was about to kill wasn't particularly spectacular or even all that important (in his mind). He didn't have much family and wasn't currently dating anyone. No one would really miss him, but he did have several jobs lined up which included digging up more dirt on an upshot celebrity. Once he didn't show up for the interview, they would call him; perhaps it would take several hours before the magazine company (secretary, really) would get worried and call the police. Then the incompetent fools "guarding" the city would take several more hours to check in on the man. After all, Believe Bridesmaid had no history of drug use or depression, but he had been known to overdo the alcohol every once in a while; that's why he was sure to always drink a lot of water so that he wouldn't dehydrate. To them, the answer would be simple: he had a hangover. But no, no, no, that wasn't it. Believe would be a good boy today and not take a drop of whiskey.

The door clicked open and the weary freelance writer stepped into the house. He flicked the living room light on and closed the door behind him. There was no reason to be scared, so he lazily walked through the room and into the open kitchen were predictably he poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher inside the refrigerator. Believe never noticed the sweat that had formed on the pitcher from its being out at room temperature a few minutes ago. With the drug slowly being ingested into his system, the man walked past the stairs to his bedroom. He was planning to change into more comfortable clothing.

While he made his way upstairs to his almost final resting place, Beyond snapped on a pair of latex gloves and rolled his sleeves up; he didn't want them getting in his way. Content with his preparations, he shuffled downstairs after the clueless man, his socks barely making a whisper against the fine carpet. B paused for a moment as he realized that he had forgotten his knife but then shrugged. There would be time for that after Believe was dead.

Mr. Bridesmaid had left his bedroom door open since he believed that he was completely alone in the house, so B just strolled over. The man's back faced him as he worked on pulling his silk pajama bottoms on, so B stepped a little closer. He was close enough to be heard or sensed but not close enough to be attacked. As soon as Believe looked up he would see B's reflection in the spotless mirror. His heart rate would jump up dramatically and as the adrenaline was flushed into the bloodstream the drug within would spread more rapidly. It would knock him out in ten seconds flat. That meant that it was of the utmost importance that B kept him quiet for those delicate ten seconds. Sure enough, Believe looked up with a sigh. Before he even had a chance to scream in horror or surprise, Beyond lunged forward and clamped an iron hand around his mouth. The victim struggled in B's grip only hastening the drugs in his system. The brief struggle ended with the anti-climatic slump of Believe Bridesmaid passing out. Grunting under the weight, B just let the man drop; he'd be dead soon, so he wouldn't mind. Pulling out the length of rope tucked into the front of his pants, B leaned over the man and wrapped it around his sweaty neck. Placing a pillow on the back of the man's head so that he could rest his knee on it and keep the man's head still, the young man pulled on the rope. The body shuddered in response as it tried to survive, but he knew something that it did not. It was time for Mr. Bridesmaid to die. Four minutes and three seconds to go. My, did they seem long. Three minutes. Two minutes and eighteen seconds. One minute. Fifty six seconds. Forty two. Thirty one. Seventeen. Thirteen. Ten. Four. Three. Two. One. Dead.

Releasing the rope, Beyond cracked his neck and then proceeded to stretch out his lanky limbs. Pretty soon he would have to stay in that god-awful position that L was so fond of for a few weeks straight, so he was going to treasure his chance to stretch out his body now. Yawning, he took his time walking back upstairs to get some of his supplies. The fun part was about to start. He needed to create a crime scene that screamed out enough to get L's attention, but one that was flawless enough to never be solved. And this was only the second piece of the puzzle. The crossword puzzle was the first piece. Grabbing the knife, some Clorox, another pair of gloves, and some other cleaning agents, he made his way back to the bedroom and proceeded to mutilate the dead body. Each cut was made precisely so that at first glance it would not look like the message it was supposed to carry, but then again, his message needed to be clear when it was noticed. Glancing at the sketch he had made for this occasion, he followed the strokes to the dot until Believe Bridesmaid's chest was covered in the lacerations. He had used paper towels to soak up any of the blood that oozed out so that it wouldn't get the carpet dirty, but once his work was done, he grabbed the t-shirt that had been dropped on the floor and forced it onto the man's body. After that, he left the body alone and turned his attention to cleaning. Using the efficiency of an Obsessive Compulsive genius, he finished cleaning up the entire house in six hours. Every fingerprint had been wiped away, every speck of dust removed, every hair or thread was vacuumed and every trace of blood hidden away. He even washed out the vacuum once he was finished with it to ensure that none of his hairs could be recovered. The ridiculous hair net he was wearing did help some. Looking at his work, he smiled happily. Now that the body was on it's back on the bed, all that was left was to place his signature and lock the room.

Once that was finished, he piled the Hefty trash bags into his truck and pulled out of the driveway.

~_~_~_~_~_

**August 4, 2002**

Quarter Queen, what an awful name. He knew that she would not see him once she came home. She would go straight for her already opened soda in the kitchen. After she drank the spiked drink, it would all be downhill, almost boring. Still, he had to do what needed to be done. The sound of the 13-year-old girl collapsing gave him his cue, and he slowly shuffled over to the kitchen with his crowbar in hand. Once he dragged Quarter to the designated room, he carried out his plan. This death had to be different from the first, just as the next death would be different. It all meant something but he was sure that the certain "something" wouldn't be discovered by L until it was too late. If he discovered the secret, then B would have failed and that was not allowed.

It was almost surprisingly easy to kill the little girl, her skull caving in quickly under the pressure his powerful arms exerted through the crowbar. A few more swings and she was truly dead; no more numbers hung over her head. If he hadn't already killed this way before he might have been disgusted with himself. True, he had never killed a little kid before, but to him it was all the same. The same as those people in the Games.

"_They were trying to kill you. What had she done to deserve this?"_

This murder had nothing to do at all with Quarter Queen or even Believe Bridesmaid. In fact, Backyard Bottomslash had nothing to do with it either. They were all destined to die anyway, so they had been chosen for his little challenge. This entire thing was about L and B. That's all. Beyond would not let another orphan die for that bastard.

"_You've lost it, B, and you know it. Stop this all, come with me…"_

Kneeling down over the dead girl, B forced her eyes open with his gloved hands. He carefully pulled out her contacts and deposited them in the trash before returning to add his little hint.

"_Please, that's enough! Stop!!"_

Licking the blood that had been sprayed on the corner of his lips from the blunt-force trauma, he deliberately shoved his thumbs into the girl's eyes, crushing them. They made a little popping noise as the sclera tore and the aqueous humor spilled out around his latex-covered digits. Wiping the liquid on his jeans, B got up to retrieve the glasses he had bought for her, rather, stole for her. The visual aid had been wiped down completely, and was now set on her weeping face. Again, he wiped down the entire apartment. No fingerprints would be found, either his or the inhabitants of the house. Once that was finished, he wiped up the spatter of blood, rested the girl face first in the middle of the messy room, and then proceeded to add the signature. Of course, the Wara Ningyo dolls nailed into the walls served a very important purpose, but again, such a thing would escape the attention of the idiot officials. Hopefully…no, it was imperative that L did not see the true reason either. It was foolish, yet necessary, that his entire plan rested on so fragile a fact.

Locking the room, he made his way out with the trash and his length of string.

~_~_~_~_~_

**August 13, 2002**

The news had already traveled around. People in L.A. began whispering about the strange killings, and it was easy to see the suspicion and fear in people's eyes. So, when Kennedy showed up again as usual, he was a little irked. It was Tuesday, and yet she had shown up yesterday and today as if there was nothing wrong with the city she was living in. Didn't her parents give a damn about her safety?

"Hi there," she greeted as she hopped onto the park bench next to him. "You look a little sad today. Are you ok?"

"Where are your parents?" he practically growled. He knew that he looked like a creepy pedophile-serial-rapist-murderer, and yet no one stopped to make sure if the girl was alright and her parents _never_ walked her home. This was Los Angeles for crying out loud! Then again, why did he give a shit?

"_Why indeed? You already killed a little girl a few days ago. Why not kill her?"_

Sarcasm. No, it wasn't her time and so he wasn't going to expend unnecessary energy. Besides, what would be the point of killing her? Kennedy was screwed up as it was.

The said girl looked down. "Mama's at home preparing dinner and Daddy's at work of course."

"Why don't they walk you home?"

"Why should they?" she questioned. "I've been walking home since kindergarten. It's not all that far away and we're on the good side of town."

As if such a thing existed. "But aren't you afraid of getting murdered or raped?"

Kennedy looked up at me in confusion. "What's that mean?"

Ugh, that's right. She was a child. Normal children didn't know what rape and murder meant, but he had never been normal, so it was excusable that he forgot such a thing.

"Kennedy?" The both of them looked up from the old seat to see a young woman. Her curly blond hair looked a little mussed from the wind and her green eyes widened as she saw Beyond. "Kennedy, get over here right now!"

The little girl looked up at Beyond before turning to the woman. "What are you doing out here, Mama?" she asked as she continued to swing her legs back and forth.

"I said come over here!" The woman didn't make a move to come closer, and B couldn't help but let his practiced grin curl on his lips. She paled even more.

"He's just Ryuzaki," Kennedy explained as if that would make it all better.

"Look, your mother's right," he chuckled. It was about time her parents showed some concern. "You shouldn't be hanging around with strangers like me."

"But you're nice," the girl whined.

"Kennedy, dear, come to Mama, please!"

B ruffled her hair. "It's all right. You're old enough to handle things by yourself now. You don't need me anymore."

Her large brown eyes teared up. "I can't come see you anymore?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Today you become a big girl, able to take care of yourself. Okay?"

She nodded her head but still looked sad. Beyond gave her a little nudge in her mother's direction and soon enough the child was making her way to her terrified mother. Glancing at his watch he realized that he would have to leave soon anyway if he wanted to commit another murder on time. The woman, Angela Williams, gave him a harsh glare and puffed out her chest in a show of bravado. With that, she grabbed her daughter's hand and marched off, her high heels clicking against the cement pathway.

A few hours later found Beyond in the townhouse near the Metrorail Glass Station. Backyard Bottomslash was lying on the floor, passed out from the drugs he had slipped into her drink. A part of him had hoped that maybe she would have struggled a little more or made this a little more entertaining, but no, she didn't do anything of the sort.

"_Can you hear yourself, Beyond?" _that voice asked sadly as B walked around the 26-year-old bank clerk. _"Killing for entertainment? Isn't that what set you off when you got to America? Isn't that what drove you insane?!"_

Stupid voice, he didn't have time for it. L would be moving soon, and he couldn't falter now. Once this murder was complete he had one more to go. One more and he would beat L forever. There was no time for self-doubts _or_ annoying voices.

Struck by curiosity, he decided to hold off his stabbing for the moment. He wanted to test something out. Removing all of Backyard's clothing, he pulled her arm away from her body for easier access. Lifting up the small club that he carried with him for extra protection (as if the knifes weren't good enough), he proceeded to beat her left arm. Her watch jingled merrily as he continued to pound on the arm, careful enough not to break the skin. Was it really possible to kill someone by internal bleeding from beating an arm? Sadly, she didn't die, even as he time drew nearer. He waited, but her body only convulsed a little. Oh well. Shrugging, he lifted up his knife, the one that he brought along from the Games as a souvenir. This was going to be bloody.

Stabbing her to death hadn't been a problem at all. By now he was an expert on killing people, and it was easy enough to stab the thin blade between her ribs and into the delicate innards of her abdomen. Warm blood sprayed over him, but it was not shocking. It didn't even bring back the memories of those long days spent in the dank mazes or gagged and blindfolded. Why? Because he wouldn't let himself go back. There was no way that he would let his mind travel back to those god-forsaken days. Taking a deep breath, he stopped; she was dead already. He looked around to make sure that the stuffed animals were in place and her body was facing up and in the right direction. Check and check. He had wiped down the place of all fingerprints already, so all he had to worry about was wiping down the cup she had just taken a drink out of, and taking out the trash. On to more important things.

The smell of blood made his heart pump faster, but he forced his hands to keep steady as he picked up the cleaver knife that would make his life a whole lot simpler. Being careful to keep his fingers clear of the sharp edge, he pressed the knife against her cooling skin, slicing through the flesh like paper. Blood spilled out as he sawed back and forth, making sure to keep lined up over the joint of her shoulder; cutting at the root of the limb was always the easiest because you didn't have to worry about cutting through the bone. A knife like his would make quick work of the tendons and ligaments and with a sickening stroke he separated the humerus from the glenoid socket. Another swipe and the limb was completely separated from the body. Her leg didn't offer much more of a challenge, but it did provide far more blood. Perhaps it was because her already abused left arm had already clotted most of the blood. Looking down at his work, he couldn't keep the laugh from bubbling out.

"Henh, henh, henh, henh…"

His shinigami eyes gleamed as he shook the blood from his bangs. This was going to be perfect. Beyond carelessly tossed the leg into the bathtub; it hit the wall with a thump and more blood spilled across the tiled wall. It didn't bother him at all. He wiped his hands on his ruined jeans in order to get a better grip on her clothing. Although it was always a pain, he had to put the clothes back on. Once she was dressed, he pinned the two Wara Ningyo dolls to the wall and placed the string around the nails. He then stepped into his rain boots (which would keep him from smearing blood all over the floor on his way out) and took the trash with him. Everything accomplished, he pulled the lock into place and slipped the string out. Again, flawless.

~_~_~_~_~_

**August 15, 2002**

Looking down at the tough looking woman called Naomi Misora, Beyond nibbled on his thumb worriedly. Was this the one L had chosen as his pawn? Shrugging, he squirmed under the bed and waited for her to show up. Her voice grew more pronounced as she drew closer to the bedroom, and he realized that she was talking on a cell phone. Excitement shot through his body, but he forced himself to remain calm and quiet. He had to make sure that it was L she was talking to.

"I doubt if my thoughts will be of any use to you, L…" she sighed.

At that moment, Beyond wanted to engage in the pointless thing called a victory dance. It was working! Everything was falling in to place, but there was still a lot to get done. He forced himself to take a deep and slow breath so that he wouldn't get overexcited. If she looked under the bed while still on the phone with L…well, that would be harder to deal with than if she was alone.

"He's abnormal. Not just because he's killed three people, but…each action he took just drove that impression home. And he's not even trying to hide it." Holding in his snicker was _really _hard. "For example…fingerprints. They have not found a single fingerprint at any of the crime scenes. They had been wiped away completely." Here she paused as if listening to the undoubtedly sarcastic response from the Ice Princess. "Not to this extent. If you didn't want to leave fingerprints, most people would wear gloves—or otherwise, wipe down anything they touched. But this guy…apparently he wiped clean _every fingerprint in the house_. At all three scenes. At first I wondered if he'd been to the victim's house so many times he had no idea what he'd touched and what he hadn't, but once I read that he had unscrewed the lightbulbs and _wiped the sockets_, it became a completely different story. What else can you call that but abnormal?"

The rest of what she was saying was inconsequential. All that mattered was that he was right and that the challenge had begun. L was there, using Naomi as his pawn of course, but he was there nonetheless. B had issued the challenge and L had accepted. L After Beyond Birthday. Perfect. As he continued to listen to the conversation, he wasn't surprised to here that L had found his little crossword puzzle and solved it. Of course the century's greatest detective would be able to. If not, Beyond would have been sorely disappointed. Once Naomi hung up, she began to go around the room, investigating like any other officer of the law would. She went the bookcase and then examined the crime scene photos. All wrong, she was doing it in the wrong order. He refrained from sighing impatiently. Should he scuttle out from under the bed or wait for her to go snooping around?

Just when he was considering that she was too dull-witted to look under the bed, he saw her thick boots turn around and head straight for him. She paused and then got down on her knees before her head ducked down to peek under the bed.

"…?!" She jumped backward immediately, giving him plenty of room to crawl out from under the bed. "What…no, who are you?" she roared in her feeble attempt to sound intimidating. "Answer me! Who are you?!" Her hand went inside her jacket as if she was going to pull out a gun, but B wasn't scared.

He was just getting started.

"Nice to meet you," he said, completely unruffled. He bowed even lower than his hunched figure already stood. "Please call me Ryuzaki. Rue Ryuzaki."

~_~_~_~_~_

**August 16, 2002**

Honestly, Beyond Birthday had been a little disappointed with Naomi Misora. The entire time they worked together at the crime scene, he had to hold her hand through the deductions. Couldn't L pick someone smarter? Still, he had to give her props for being a quick learner once you got her started. She failed to see the finer intricacies of the clues and had to be guided through the though process, but she did get the clues. Plenty of other idiot officers wouldn't have managed to get as far as her as quickly as she did. Then again, she wasn't in the FBI for no good reason.

As she stepped into the alleyway in order to use it as a shortcut, B decided to strike. Was she a capable fighter or would she break down under an assault? His ski mask kept his identity secret, and without the pronounced slouch she would never guess that Rue Ryuzaki was her assailant. As soon as he swung the sandbag referred to as a blackjack, she ducked and pulled out a capoeira move. Nice, he wasn't expecting that at all. He decided to take another swing at her just to see how capable she was at her martial arts style, and wasn't disappointed as she aggressively attacked as soon as she dodged the blow. B was able to dodge her attack, and he decided that he had seen enough. There was no way that he would risk damage to himself right now, and he was pleased to see that there was no fear in her eyes. Maybe L didn't do so poorly in choosing her.

Once his vehicle, mask, and weapons were abandoned, he had arrived quickly at the next crime scene. Misora was surely only a few minutes behind him, so he had to do something to disarm her as soon as she walked in. Shrugging, he pulled open the top self of a chest of drawers and chuckled when he saw that the contents were Quarter's underwear. Pink frilly stuff or the occasional cutesy thing printed on them seemed to be the latest teenage fashion. The door clicked open and he drew a blank expression immediately.

"Ah, Misora. You're late. Please try to be on time. Time is money, and therefore life."

She sighed and when he turned around he saw her accusing look. Hmmm, he did look like a panty-stealing pervert, didn't he? Regardless, he continued with his charade, even dropping down to all fours like he had done the other day. It had been a spur of the moment decision, but it seemed to work well for this personality. Again, he had to lead her through the clues, casually giving her the information needed. When she still wasn't getting it, he resorted to more drastic measures. Coffee.

"Here you are," he said as he placed a cup of coffee in front of her. B then sat opposite of her and pulled up his legs in the "L pose" before choking down the awful drink. Misora seemed to agree with his sentiments.

"Augh!" she yelled spitting it out. "_Cough…hack…_urrghhh…"

"Something wrong, Misora?" he asked, innocently sipping his cup. "Once something has entered your mouth, it should never be spit out like that. And those terrible moans do nothing for your image, either. You are quite beautiful, so you should try to present yourself accordingly."

"M-murderously sweet…poisonous!"

"Not poison. Sugar."

"…" She looked at her drink and visibly shuddered. "I feel like I drank dirt."

"But dirt is not this sweet."

"_Sweet Dirt…_"

After a little more discussion, which included his double meaning statement about being an aggressive top, Naomi finally went to the bathroom to wash out her mouth. In there, she would clearly see the mirror, and her mind would _hopefully_ pick up the subconscious hint. If not…well, he was running out of ideas.

"Opposition…the opposite…reversed!"

Ah, good. She got it. Well, she almost got it. The idea was painfully close to being right, but he needed her to be 100% sure of what she was talking about. She needed to understand all of the clues, to prove that they had all been thought out carefully and created by a mastermind. If not, then someone could claim it all as coincidence or pure dumb luck. That would not do at all, so he offered her some advice.

"Misora, when thinking, I recommend this posture."

"…'this posture'?" He motioned towards his knees up against his chest.

"Seriously. It raises deductive ability by forty percent. You must try it." Yes, he made that all up on the spot, but the tone of conviction that he used would be sure to affect her.

"No, I…um…well, okay." She assumed the posture and looked like she was regretting doing it. But then, the lightbulb went off above her head and she looked like she was going to bang her head against a wall because it _did_ work. What do you know, all that suggestion bull shit Almost Always taught him really worked.

~_~_~_~_~_

**August 19, 2002**

Beyond Birthday was beginning to feel his nerves fraying as they neared the 22nd. After all, that's when it would all end. He would win or L would win. Still, he had to continue with this role and he had to play it flawlessly. On top of that, he needed to ensure that Naomi Misora would be sidetracked and that she wouldn't be able to figure out the entire truth too quickly. Or at all. For some reason, she kept gravitating towards the Wara Ningyo dolls, and he needed her to stay far away from that. To her, they must serve no purpose other than marking the crime scene.

On this hot summer day, as they were discussing the reasoning for the final murder to take place in three days, Naomi let something slip. She mumbled something that sent chills down the murderer's spine.

"The killer is B…"

"What?" he questioned as subtly as he could, but she recovered quickly from her blunder.

"No, I mean, he's so obsessed with the letter B. Maybe that very obsession is part of the message, and the killer's initials are B.B. as well."

So, L knew. "Or maybe they're Q.Q. Like you said, a lot of elements of the case do point to B, but it's also possible we simply haven't stumbled across the signs pointing to Q."

"Yeah…I suppose so…"

But he mustn't completely crush her confidence. "That said, I do think B is more likely than Q as well. More than ninety-nine percent." She gave him an exasperated glance; she didn't yet realize how much he was toying with her. "There's a good chance the killer's initials are B. The victims are all B.B., and the killer is too…things are getting interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Yes. Anyway, be careful next time, Misora. If you agree with something, you must have sufficient reason to agree with it. If you disagree with something, you must have sufficient reason to disagree with it. However accurate, a deduction based on fallacy means you have not defeated the killer."

"Defeated? Ryukazi, is this really a matter of winning and losing?"

"Yes," he stated firmly. She was just a pawn, so of course she couldn't see. "It is." For him and L, this was war.

The rest of the day progressed with Beyond leading Misora through the swamp of clues and deductions. She was really smart, but not genius class like he and L were. This would not be easy for her, nor did he expect it to be. Truthfully, he was more worried about not doing anything to screw up. This was near the end, he could not slip up. However, it was easier said than done. After all, when the insufferable woman once again returned to the idea that the straw voodoo dolls had something to do with the locks (after she jumped on his stomach with her damned boots), he could barely restrain himself. Of all the things for her to understand, why was it _this_, this delicate point?! He was able to direct the conversation away from potentially dangerous territory and back to trying to discover the clue about the fourth murder that would take place in a few days.

"Sorry. I was wasting valuable time," she mumbled, looking down.

"I would rather you apologize for stepping on me, Misora."

She wanted to point out that if he wasn't playing a corpse in the middle of the room, then she wouldn't have stepped on him, but he was right. It was an accident, but it must have hurt like hell. Especially with her heeled boots. "Oh, right, of course."

"You mean it? Then as a token of your contrition, would you do something for me?"

"…Okay…" Could he be more blatant? But she _had _stepped on him. Very hard, with her full body weight. "What?"

Back on track, he needed to get her mind back on track. "Would you pretend to be dead, Misora? Like I was a moment ago. The victim, Backyard Bottomslash, was a woman, so you might provide more inspiration than I did."

"…"

Trying not to feel self-conscious, Misora allowed herself to assume yet another strange position. This time, she wasn't pulling up her legs to increase her deductive skills; she was lying down in the exact position that Ms. Bottomslash had been only days ago. Blood still stained the carpet, but she kept her disgust bottled up. This could be important. Her head felt like it wanted to explode, but she had to keep going. If she didn't then there would be another murder and they would never catch the killer. L was counting on her.

"Are you alright?" B asked as he leaned over her. She seemed to zone out for a minute, and he was wondering if maybe it was all too much for her.

She blinked in surprise, considering how close he was to her, but by all means his lack of understanding when it came to personal space wasn't all that bothersome. At least he wasn't nose-to-nose with her, or something. "No…well, I'm okay. It's nothing to worry about."

"If you need a break, I can understand that. Perhaps some of the coffee you graciously saved from spilling when you leaped onto my stomach could offer some relaxation?"

Again with the jumping on his stomach. She apologized already. "Really, you don't have to worry. I'm just a little tired is all. This whole thing has been a huge mess, and I wonder if we can really catch the killer."

"Don't let such a thought deter you, Misora," he added for comfort. Spending several days with this woman and the constant stress was getting to him. On a whim, he leaned down further and brushed his lips against hers. If she proceeded to punch the living daylights out of him, he wouldn't have been surprised. But what she did, completely swept the rug out from under him. Naomi Misora pushed into the kiss.

"_I think I've lost it,"_ Naomi told herself as she deepened the kiss with the man she had caught trying to steal panties from a dead girl's drawer only a few days ago. Rue Ryuzaki was weird, had a strange thing for deathly sweet stuff, crawled around on all fours when looking for clues, and sucked his thumb like an infant. Why the hell would she be kissing him back? Perhaps working under L with the constant stress of dealing with this nutcase had finally fried a few dozen brain cells.

However, she couldn't believe that. She was anything but weak. Yes, she made a mistake a few weeks ago by not shooting the 13-year-old criminal that the FBI had spent countless hours hunting down, but that didn't make her weak. It made her undeniably human. And perhaps that's why she was kissing Ryuzaki so desperately right now. Raye was a wonderful man; he was polite, good-looking, and perfect in every way. Ryuzaki was not; as a matter of fact, he seemed to be sub-human. But he was unique and she had always been the kind attracted to danger. He was dangerous because she didn't understand him, because she couldn't trust him, because she couldn't dominate him. And Naomi Misora was not one to take anything lying down; if he was an aggressive top as he insinuated earlier, she was a damn near destructive top.

Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving her gasping. He looked a little bewildered, but quickly his blank expression was painted on. "…So? Anything?" he questioned as he moved away.

Naomi remained on the floor. "No, not at all."

"Oh. Yeah, I thought not."

"…"

She watched as Ryuzaki sat on the chair with his knees against his chest and drank the coffee that she had prepared (normally). "Whew…hot coffee helps the pain in my belly," he said loud enough for her to hear. He seemed so nonchalant, but he just wouldn't let that go.

~_~_~_~_~_

**August 20, 2002**

L was biting his thumb nervously. He had been in L.A. during the course of the investigation and Naomi Misora had been doing a phenomenal job so far, but something was bothering him. He felt as if he was missing something important, and that was the worst feeling the world's greatest detective could imagine. B was one step ahead of him and he wasn't going to let that go; he refused to be beaten by the Backup. He would never be outsmarted by a Letter, a failure.

Naomi had informed him of all of her progress, but most of that he had deduced before she reported it. Oddly enough, what bothered him the most was this "Rue Ryuzaki" character. He had risked going out into the field in order to catch a glimpse of this person, and he was 100% sure that he was none other than Beyond Birthday. However, that wasn't helping him with the case at all. Sure, it was easy enough to figure out that B was behind all of the murders and that he was going to kill once more, but there was no proof. No solid proof. L's pride refused to allow him to just have B arrested and taken into his custody. Even if there was _some_ evidence, such as the fact that there was no one in the world called Rue Ryuzaki, he knew too much about the case, and he had the original crossword puzzle, that wasn't enough. If B was arrested now, L would not have won. He and B would have come to a stale mate, and that was completely out of the question.

Here and now, he would prove to everyone that he was number one. "Wedy? Are you finished with the surveillance?"

His trusted burglar friend replied quickly. "Of course. I'm coming in right now. Is that obese, Neanderthal coming in as well?"

L's eye twitched. He had been correct in assuming that their relationship wouldn't last long. "Yes."

"Hey, I can here that," Aiber grumbled. "Maybe if you actually wore some clothes, you would be the one out here in public, Wedy."

"Don't. Start." L warned. "Be professional right now, even if it gives you an ulcer."

"Fine," they both responded.

As they came in to give a report on the building that they would be staking out until the end of this investigation on the 22nd, L looked over all of his files. If B knew that he was investigating, how did he plan to carry out this murder? On top of that, he had even solved many of the puzzles of the case _for_ L and Naomi, going so far as to give them the place and date of the next murder. Not that L needed the help, of course. Still, it was maddening. How did he plan on killing anyone with security watching him? Obviously, B and Naomi were guarding two different rooms, but L was having both Wedy and Aiber watch room 404 where B would be staying. No one would enter or leave without being noticed. They even paid the room's inhabitant Blues-harp Babysplit off so that he would stay away. What was B planning?

Crushing his animal cracker in annoyance, L swiveled his chair around and ran through the facts again. The Wara Ningyo…counting down…

~_~_~_~_~_

**August 21, 2002**

It would be August 22 in less than three hours, Naomi noticed. Sighing tiredly, she checked the perimeter once more before going into the room. She hadn't gotten the rest she was hoping to last night or earlier today. As a matter of fact, she was wiped.

"Damn it," she grumbled as she put some coffee to boil. She had 27 hours of waiting to look forward to. This was going to be ridiculously trying.

A knock on her door made her jump, and she whirled around cautiously. Then her brain caught up; would the murderer knock on her door before he tried to kill her? And three hours before it was actually August 22? Somehow she didn't think that their mystery killer was the type to cheat. Everything was too meticulous, and he wasn't going to take the easy route now. Peeking through the peep hole, she sighed in relief. It was only Ryuzaki.

Wait…if she was relieved to see that weirdo, she was seriously screwed up. "Can I help you?" she asked, wearily berating herself.

"Just coming to make sure that you were armed and prepared. Here's your gun; I've also taken the liberty to provide you with handcuffs."

Somehow, that came off as a little perverted. "Thanks." Then she looked at his scrawny figure and she rose an eyebrow. "Ryuzaki, are you sure you can take the killer on if he comes to your room? I mean…not to be rude…but you're pretty, uh, skinny."

"I am perfectly capable of handling myself," he assured her as he chewed on his thumbnail. Which made him look like he was sucking his thumb.

"A-are you sure?" If he got killed, she would be really pissed off. Not that she cared about him personally, but still.

Ryuzaki tilted his head as he studied her. "Shouldn't you be more worried about yourself? Then again, those boots have proven to inflict serious injuries, so you should be fine."

Again with that?! "I apologized," she hissed in annoyance.

"Yes," he pouted, "but that doesn't cure the bruise."

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad."

He glared at her. "Would you like to see?"

Rolling her eyes, she stepped aside to let him in. She didn't want him standing out in the hall where anyone could see him as he pulled up his shirt. That would be weird. The person would probably think that he was a streaker or something along those lines. "All right, show me this 'awful' bruise."

In a swift motion, Ryuzaki had her pinned to the wall and he was kissing her lips with the aggressive savagery she never believed he possessed. Kicking the door shut, she moved to attack; after all, she wasn't going to let this guy beat her. Besides, there were a few hours before they had to worry about the killer, so what was the harm?

Beyond Birthday was more than pleasantly surprised. Naomi wasn't at all timid like the others he had been with. She was strong, she was beautiful, but she wanted to be the dominant one. Chuckling darkly, he continued with his harsh ministrations. He would not submit, not to anyone. Why she was going along with this was beyond him, but he wasn't about to argue with it. There were a few good reasons for him to engage in such a…flourish. First, he would be sure to wear her out so that she would sleep in late tomorrow, which would make his job even easier. Second, she was a woman, so she would be surely distracted all of tomorrow with her thoughts on what happened and she would question their relationship, yadda, yadda. Lastly, he had to show her who was the dominant one. He had played the role of the quiet supporter, the one to help her solve the case, but tonight, he would top her. She would see that she would never get one up on him.

Still, he had never had a challenge like her, and it was going to be wonderful to taste his victory.

Naomi was every bit woman, but she took Beyond's challenge with a smirk. He might assume that she would just lay down and take it because he was a man, but no one had ever topped her before and she wasn't about to start now. No man had been able to prove himself worthy enough to be her superior and even Raye with his male chauvinistic beliefs would submit in the bedroom when she was in a foul mood. Still, Ryuzaki was proving to be quite interesting.

She had never had a challenge quite like him, and it was going to be priceless to snatch a victory out of this.

~_~_~_~_~_

**August 22, 2002**

For a few minutes, Naomi wondered if she was really awake. Lying on the uncomfortable tile completely naked except for her leather jacket, which had been lain over her middle, she wondered if she was still in a dream. The ceiling was plain white; nothing interesting about that. Groaning in pain, she rolled to her side and yawned. When was the last time she had slept so deeply? Glancing at the clock on the other side of the room, the young Japanese woman found herself staring. And staring.

9:13

"Holy shit!" she gasped, hurriedly putting on her clothes. She was supposed to have called Ryuzaki at seven and L at nine! What if he had been trying to call her and she slept through it?! Just imagining L bursting through the door to see if she had been murdered and instead finding her stark naked on the kitchen floor was more than enough to make her face burn. As she finished pulling on her clothes, she dialed up the detective's number.

"L," he answered tonelessly. Of course, the synthesized voice never offered much in the way of emotion.

"Misora. Nothing happening here." It was a struggle not to gasp for air as she hurried up. "I spoke to Ryuzaki earlier (which wasn't a complete lie), but nothing has happened on his end either. No signs of anything out of the ordinary. I'm starting to feel like we're in it for the long haul."

Hell, after she had a shower, she wasn't planning on budging from in front of the door. Not even for a bathroom break.

"I see. Don't let your guard down. As I said before, your backup is in position around the condominium, but if anything happens, they aren't close enough to respond immediately."

At the bottom of the building, L was sighing in relief. He had just sent Wedy to go check on Misora, but she was obviously doing well. Briefly, he wondered why she was calling so late, but in the long run, that didn't matter. B hadn't attacked her and killed her. Of course, B hadn't shown up to his designated room until two in the morning, but that was the least of his worries. Now that B was in there, he was left waiting.

L informed Naomi of her two extra backups so that if Wedy and Aiber had to intervene she wouldn't try to shoot them. That would be unfortunate. The conversation then turned to more personal questions, but none of them would put either of them in danger, so he offered her answers. He already knew about the reason she had become available for his use, and he knew that her failure was probably weighing heavily on her mind. So L offered her the words that he was sure she needed to hear. They were words that he needed to hear too.

"Justice has more power than anything else."

"Power? By power…you mean strength?"

"No. I mean kindness."

Her end of the line went silent for a moment and then she replied, almost in a whisper, "…I misunderstood you, L." It was a compliment.

"Did you? Well, I'm glad we cleared that up."

"I'll go back to work now."

"Very well."

Folding her phone shut, she leaned up against the wall and closed her eyes. She had made her decisions regarding going back to the FBI or not, and it was all thanks to L. Maybe he had just been manipulating her so that she would do her job today better, but that didn't matter. She still got something out of it, and for that, she was thankful.

Glancing at the clock again, she shook her head. "…So, in less than an hour, I have to call Ryuzaki…hope he's okay."

Nibbling away on his Pocky sticks, L wondered if everything was falling into place or if he was still missing something. Knowing B, he was sure that his ex-Backup had a trick up his sleeve, but what? It was annoying the shit out of him. Staring at the picture of the straw voodoo dolls, L wondered why B would pick something Japanese. There seemed to be no connection at all. Another picture offered a view of the door and the wall adjacent to it. If it wasn't for the fact that he dropped his Pocky stick, the thought probably would have occurred to L too late. Instead, he stared at the picture and the fact that the dolls, more accurately, the _nails_ were perfectly level with the lock on the door.

It all fell into place, and L wondered why he didn't see it earlier. Jumping out of his seat, he began the sprint up four flights of stairs. He didn't have time to explain this to anyone, he needed to stop B! Beyond Birthday, the last piece of the puzzle! That bastard set it up so that he would be the final victim and without proof, L would never be able to concretely point him out as the murderer! By the time he made it to the top, L was panting for breath, but he forced his legs to keep going. If he didn't he might get there too late. Aiber peeked out of one of the rooms curiously.

"Is something wrong?" he whispered.

"J-just (wheeze) watch my back," L forced out as he moved to room 404. Wedy would be coming back any minute and she would offer extra protection. As soon as they entered the condo, a sickening feeling settled in L's stomach. He smelt gasoline.

Beyond Birthday stared at the lighter in his hand. He had turned the thumb lock by hand, nailed a Wara Ningyo into the wall, broke the sprinkler system, turned off the alarm, wiped the place for fingerprints, and doused himself with gasoline. Even the carpet was soaked. All he had to do was flick the light on and drop it. He had fully expected to here that voice, finally welcoming him home, but there was only silence. Painful silence. In what he hoped were his last moments, he found himself thinking about many things. Wammy's House, Almost Always, the suicide, sweet perfect Mello, and even…Naomi. Flicking the light on, he took a deep shuddering breath. This was going to hurt like hell.

"B, open up!" L demanded as he pounded on the door. When there was no answer, he began to panic. What if B was already dead?! Frantically, he began to kick the door, hoping to break it down. "It's over, dammit, just open the door!" No, he was not feeling that certain something that bubbled up inside him when he asked his Backup for help all those years ago. He was not feeling that annoying something that caused him to look fondly at that Letter's file before jerking himself back to his work. No, he was just really pissed off, because he was petty and wouldn't be able to handle it if B actually managed, by a fluke, to beat him.

"Hold up, step back," Aiber commanded, pushing the panting man to the side. L's foot was throbbing painfully, but his adrenaline rush was keeping him on his feet. The blond con-artist leveled his gun at the door knob, and with two shots and a sturdy kick, the door was open.

Unfortunately, as the door was being kicked open, L thought of something. They were opening the door to a ventilated room where the temperature was undoubtedly building and with plenty of combustible things. As soon as the door broke in, there was only one warning sign. The temperature shot up immediately, and then a flashover swept through the rest of the condo. Pain shot through L before his head came in contact with something particularly hard and he blacked out.

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**Author's Notes: -dies- I…did it. This was a long-ass chapter!!!! O.O Hopefully, it was an enjoyable one. **

**So, for those who have read **_**Another Note**_**, and those who haven't, I'm sure you'll have noticed some differences. Those will be explained later on (like, the next chapter). Um, other than I'm REALLY tired, all I have to say is that flashovers are very real and very dangerous. Firefighters have to deal with those all the time, and it's no fun. People die. **

**As usual, please feel free to point out typos and such. I pretty much wrote this straight through and I'm so tired that I don't feel like looking over it at all. Maybe tomorrow? XD Oh, I also put up the link to that scarlet fever thing that I based Near's condition on. It's up on my profile if anyone is curious.  
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**Please review and let me know what you guys are thinking! I love hearing all the wonderful things you guys see in this story and think about. I've had some awesome reviews lately, and as I'm sure you guys know, reviews help pump up the authors! Thanks goes to all those who alerted/faved/reviewed. **


	28. Seared

**Ah ha! Welcome to yet another important-but-still-a-filler chapter! Hopefully this will answers any questions that you may have from the last chapter, but in case it doesn't the Author's Notes at the bottom will explain it better. If you still have questions, feel free to ask them in a review! Now, carry on and enjoy the chapter. :)**

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**The incessant beeping was seriously pissing L off. He tried to find the source of the noise, but he couldn't open his eyes. There was something heavy on his face. Flexing his fingers, the world's greatest detective shuddered in pain. His whole body felt like it was on fire. "W-watari?" he barely managed to croak. Even his throat felt parched.

There was a slight pressure to the back of his hand and he realized that he had been tensed up. "L, I'm right here."

The older man's voice calmed him down a considerable amount. "Am I…in a hospital?" His brain was reacting slower than usual, making it quite difficult for him to think straight.

"Yes. Wedy was able to get you out of there before Ms. Misora came down."

There? L puzzled over his situation for a moment before a rush of images assaulted his cerebral cortex. He had come to the right answer, but far too late. "B?" he whispered, fearing the worst. Surely no one could survive being in the middle of that inferno.

"He's survived," Mr. Wammy informed L somberly, "but unfortunately he is in the intensive care unit and isn't expected to live much longer."

Pain stung in his chest, but L just marked it up to his burns. "And Aiber?"

"He was standing in front of you when the flashover happened, so he took the brunt of the damage. The inside of his lungs have been seared, and he has first, second, and third degree burns all over the front of his body."

"Is he going to live?"

"Of course. And once the plastic surgeon I hired does his job, no one will ever know that he had been charbroiled like a slab of meat."

"Well, that's encouraging; at least he won't blame me for ruining his good looks."

"I made sure of that, L." Watari spared a chuckle.

"Now, why can't I open my eyes?"

"You suffered some minor burns on your face, so I wanted them to cover the wounds so that you wouldn't scratch at them."

"…" What, was he a child? Soon enough, a comfortable silence fell over the two of them, but L's mind was running on overdrive. "Watari, call Misora. There are some things that I need to clarify with her, some loose ends that need tying off."

"Yes, L."

~_~_~_~_~_

Naomi Misora sat beside her bed, feeling numb. The god-awful sound of that explosion was still echoing in her ears. She could feel herself racing down the stairs with her still wet hair clinging to her neck. If only she hadn't been in the shower, if only she hadn't slept in! Squeezing her eyes shut, Naomi finally let her mind wander to a place that she had hoped to ignore.

"Was…it all fake?" she mumbled to herself.

There, she finally asked it. Did Rue Ryuzaki really care for her at all or was him sleeping with her simply to keep her out of his hair as he carried out the last of his murders? L had already told her that Ryuzaki was B, a candidate to become his successor, but that the pressure of that had driven him off track. He also told her that he was making sure that it would be reported that Naomi was the only one who had discovered B and that she was the one who had kept him alive. Well, all of that wasn't really false. She had indeed raced down to the room to find the burning man. The sickening smell of burning human flesh was still haunting her nightmares. She had done the only thing she could: she grabbed the fire extinguisher and hosed down everything. It took her a while to realize that there was another man lying in the hallway, unconscious and burned. Still, she had cradled Ryuzaki in her arms and checked for vital signs. The thought that he was the true murderer never entered her mind, and it wasn't until that other woman showed up to get the unknown man out of the condo that she realized that she was crying.

It was really stupid of her, she decided; stupid to get involved with such an obviously shady character like Ryuzaki. How had he managed to get into her pants? There wasn't anything remotely attractive about him, he had weird habits, and he had been creepy to the nth degree. Lies, she would keep lying to herself. Otherwise, how could she face Raye? He had been faithful to her and only her; it wouldn't even be surprising if he proposed to her soon. In turn, she had abandoned common sense and participated in a relationship with a covert murderer. A powerful and intriguing murderer. A bastard who probably never cared about her.

She wanted to cry or scream, but such things would only make her more foolish. Naomi refused to be like those other women who were so undeniably weak. No, she would return to her duties at the FBI soon, and she would be able to look Raye in the eye and act like nothing happened. He didn't have to know that she had slept with another man. The marks on her body were evidence enough, though, and she could always see them. It would be a very long time before she would be able to forget the feeling of those hands, those lips, that hot fevered flesh. Holding herself tightly, she remembered that animalistic look in his eyes, the way that he moved his body as if he were a different person entirely. He was still the hunched over freak of nature, but at the same time he was something far above and beyond that. He was Beyond all that…

Sighing, Naomi thought back to what L had told her. It wasn't surprising that he wanted to cover up the real happenings. As a matter of fact, it worked out well for her. L didn't know she slept with B and no one else would have to know. Everything would be swept under the rug, the mistakes on both of their parts. The great detective had even pulled some strings in order to get her back into the FBI without a mention about her working independently on her time off. There was even a suspiciously large sum of money deposited into her bank account recently. A bribe to keep silent? Or was it a thank-you of sorts? Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she didn't want to think anymore. Having worked under the great L himself was good enough for her record; she would not think back on this case anymore. She decided that by the time she got back to work, she would have pushed the memories of this painful case to the back of her mind. Life would return to its normalcy, its dull normalcy.

Submitting to a deeper part within, she pulled up her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, much like a certain someone she knew.

~_~_~_~_~_

On September 1st, Naomi left her house on foot, headed for the nearest subway station. When she reached her office, her superior would return her badge, her gun, and her handcuffs (she wouldn't think of the other handcuffs). The thought was a little embarrassing, and she felt a few butterflies in her stomach, but when it was over she would be back to her old life.

"Mmm?"

The station entrance had just come into view, and standing in front of it was an awkward, uncomfortable-looking man. A young man, with an intense expression. There were lines under his eyes so dark she wondered if they were actually done with makeup. Like he hadn't slept in days—no, like he had never slept in his life. Like his sense of justice would not allow him time to sleep, since he had so many difficult cases to think about, battling unfathomable pressure on a daily basis. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt and blue jeans. His pale feet were crammed directly into beaten sneakers.

As Naomi pondered over the uncanny similarities between this young man and a certain young man she had recently engaged with, L was trying his hardest not to bolt back to his Rolls Royce parked several hundred yards away. He was unaccustomed to being in such a loud and crowded place, and every instinct was telling him to flee the unknown. It didn't help that the hairline fracture in his foot from his feeble attempt to kick the door down was killing him or that the concussion he had received was throbbing painfully. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that he had to thank Naomi. Without her help, B might have died already and he would have lost. Still, it didn't make his little trek into the real world any more pleasant. The bandaged burns hidden beneath his baggy clothing was itching uncomfortably. Thankfully, the burns on his face were mostly healed, leaving only a few patches of shiny red skin.

"Um, have we…?" Naomi asked, interrupting his train of thought. She could have ignored him and walked on inside, but she really couldn't help herself. He reminded her so much of…

Staring at the able woman who had helped him solve the case, L realized that he hadn't thought of what he would do or say to her. He couldn't well say "Hi, I'm L. Thanks for the help on the case!" That would be stupid. He quickly deduced that a hug was probably a safe bet. Of course, he forgot the simple facts that Naomi didn't have the slightest clue as to who he was and that going around and randomly hugging women wasn't socially acceptable.

"Huh?! No!"

Clearly, she mistook his good-natured action as an attack and responded accordingly. In an impressive show of her capoeira, she did a backbend twist kick thingy that hit the detective right on the shoulders. Tender burnt shoulders of course. Both blows hit hard, and the impact knocked him off balance. With a thunderous crash, he tumbled down the subway stairs.

Just as quickly as she had attacked the young man, Misora felt a sting of guilt. Perhaps she had gone a little overboard. She righted herself immediately and ran down the stairs to check up on him. "Are you ok?" she asked.

He was lying on his stomach like a crushed frog. "I see," he muttered, seemingly talking to himself. "Watching videos and seeing it for real is quite different, but now I think I understand." Not that he was _trying_ to get a live-action demonstration of the martial arts that had piqued his interest ever since he heard about it, but his being attacked had proved to be educational.

Naomi had no clue as to what this strange person was talking about, but she still tried to help him. "Um…can you stand?" she asked as she reached out toward him.

L looked up and took the offered hand. "Thank you." That was twice that he had acknowledged his thanks.

"Are you injured? Does it hurt anywhere?" she asked concernedly as she pulled him upright.

"I'm fine, thank you," he said, not letting go of her hand. In some strange way, it was like they were shaking hands. It was a lot less painful than his failed attempt at giving her a hug. He was also a little surprised that she had taken the time to make sure that he was well. "You are very kind," he said, with something like a smile, and at last let go of her hand. Then, ignoring the pain all of his body was bothering him with, he tottered away as if nothing at all had happened, slowly climbing the stairs again. He had accomplished his purpose and it was time to get back to work.

"Ah…w-wait! Just a second!"

Misora had almost let him go, but a moment later she ran after him, circling around in front of him again. She was an FBI agent and could not let an assault crime go unpunished. The young man was sucking his thumb. He didn't appear to be at all nervous.

"If you aren't hurt, then you'll have to come with me. Sexual assault is a serious crime. You can't go around throwing your arms around women. What were you thinking?"

"…" He wasn't afraid that she was going to arrest him.

"Don't just stand there. Say something. This attitude won't make things easier for you. What's your name?"

Naomi Misora had asked his name. An idea struck L just as her high-heeled boots had struck him earlier. He nodded to himself and answered. "Please call me Ryuzaki," he said, unperturbed.

Just like someone else had.

~_~_~_~_~_

Ceaseless pain, hours of ceaseless pain. Beyond felt agony in much of his body, but what scared him even more was the lack of any feeling at all in the rest of his body. It had become obvious to him for the past few hours that he wasn't dead, but if he couldn't feel parts of his own body, he could only imagine the worst. It was impossible for him to open his eyes or even more to further investigate. So, unable to do anything but think, his rage and devastation began to eat away at him. He wasn't dead, so he had failed.

All that work, all those years, all those deaths…all failure. Pointless.

For the first time in a long while, B felt like crying shamefully, but he wasn't even able to do that. No, he was trapped inside his dying body unable to do anything but stew in his own shame and insanity. In the midst of his agony, B came to a daunting realization; that comforting voice that was always whispering sweetly in his mind was silent. He had heard nothing but the artificial breathing machine and the beeping of various instruments struggling to keep him tied to this infernal world. No chastisements, no comforts, nothing.

He tried to ignore the panic that was building up inside him, but as the minutes ticked away, loudly and constantly, he began to break down. Damn it, where was that voice, where was it when he _needed_ it?!

"Hnnn, Aaaaa…"

It was impossible to even communicate properly, but the sudden increase of his heart rate, and the way his blood pressure shot up to dangerously high levels was enough for even a simpleton nurse to realize that something was terribly wrong with Beyond. He wanted to scream for Almost, scream for him to come back, but it all seemed fruitless. There was no voice, no sudden sense of calmness or completion.

"Alllgssst," he muttered with his leaden tongue, slowly forcing his damaged body to move.

There was nothing but darkness surrounding him, and he felt very alone. That ticking, damned ticking! It was driving him crazy, and that emptiness! God, he wanted to hear again, to hear that sweetly toxic voice that would assure him that everything would be ok or beg him to come away. He was ready to leave, but he couldn't! Without Almost, he couldn't find his way, he would be lost! An inhuman scream of agony echoed across the entire floor of the hospital as he realized how very much alone he was.

His shinigami eyes were useless to him now, and he had nothing else. No one who cared, no purpose, no love, nothing. Bleeding fingers clenched desperately for something solid, but only air slipped through, mocking his pain. More fiery pain pulsed through his body as he flailed in the stiff bed. Unknown hands grabbed him, holding him down, suffocating him. There were voices, but his mind could no longer translate sound into meaningful information, all he heard was the ticking.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock…_

~_~_~_~_~_

L worried his thumb as he stared past the glass into the ICU where his ex-Backup was struggling to live. Every inch of him was bandaged neatly with extra padding around his forearms and ankles so that the heavy duty straps could hold him down without doing permanent damage. He had been fading in and out of consciousness for the past few weeks and each time he came to, he would go into a frenzy, damaging himself and others. Looking down at his own bandages, he wondered how B could stand that apparent agony. The doctors were saying that although parts of his body had the nerves seared off, the majority of his flesh had been burned just enough to expose the sensitive pain receptors. Any kind of touch would be translated into excruciating pain. How was it possible that he was still alive?

Observant eyes watched curiously as the heart monitor picked up the increase in his heart rate and another machine showed brain activity increasing. Sadly, he was waking up again. L looked both ways down the clean white hall before slipping out of his seat. Each step took him closer to the room (person) that he didn't want to see, but his curiosity propelled him forward. Far too quickly, he was standing in the crammed room where the smell of charred flesh permeated everything. Beyond was moaning something quietly before he choked back a whimper.

"Beyond?" he whispered, hoping that this time the younger of the two of them would be able to reason.

The mass of blood and bandages squirmed a little. Then it spoke in a cracked, hoarse voice. "Alllnaa? 'Most Alvay?"

Great, he was still delirious. "B, it's L."

Bandaged fingers curled a little. "Always," he replied clearly, his pain seemingly forgotten for the moment. "Almost Always."

L tilted his head thoughtfully. Why would B be calling for A? He had been dead for years now, and other than their sexual encounters, no one could say that they were particularly close. Other Letters mentioned that they didn't get along well, and that they would avoid each other if at all possible. But then again, everyone tried to avoid Beyond. Still, it was something he had never understood, and finding out that they had been sexually involved only furthered his confusion. It wasn't an important question, though, so he had filed it away in favor of complicated cases.

"A is dead, Backup."

Only the beeping machines were heard as the injured man tried to soak in the words. "A…no, Meeell…oh…"

"No," L snapped immediately, "you won't be seeing Mello." A strange feeling clenched in his chest at the thought of that happy boy coming to see this. "You won't be seeing Mello again."

Unfortunately, the detective had pushed a little too hard. B began to fight against his restraints in a panic, and began screaming incomprehensible nonsense. Blood began seeping between his wrappings and all of the computers seemed to be shrieking now. Not knowing what else to do, L slipped out of the room and back to his seat before a horde of nurses came rushing in, pumping morphine into the crazed man to try to settle him back down.

~_~_~_~_~_

"They've had to put B into a drug induced coma," Watari mumbled casually.

L continued to watch the scenery swim past his window as his private jet made the long journey back home. It was strange how he never really considered Wammy's House a home until recently. He really didn't want to ponder that thought for too long because he was concerned where that particular line of thought would take him.

"That's unfortunate. Still, it's a wonder that he's still alive."

"I guess it's just not his time to go, L."

The detective decided that Watari's statement was a much safer train of thought to follow. The idea that people had a time limit on their lives seemed so ludicrous. But if it were true, he wondered how much longer he had left.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock…_

_

* * *

_**Author's Notes: So, pretty much _this_ is what really happened, but L couldn't well let the world (or Mello) know all that. And Misora didn't want the fact that she slept with Beyond to get out either, so when the story was given out officially (and to Mello), they spun the truth a little to hide the mistakes made. And poor Aiber wasn't mentioned at all, lol. Which he should have considering that he took the brunt of the flames for L. -pets poor Aiber-**

**So, I hope that you enjoyed the chapter and the next chapter should be a bit more exciting! Let's see, there are about two more chapters before Kira arrises and the storyline will pick up more from then on out. Sadly, I will stay true to canon event (unless it needs a little more embellishing of course) so L must...you know. -cries in a corner- After that, the focus will be on Matt and Mello out of Wammy's as well as some of Near trying to build up enough of a reputation to be taken seriously by the President of the United States. So, this is turning out to be an epic, but I hope it will be an enjoyable epic. **

**The next chapter: Mello struggles with adolescense and all of his feelings. Does he love L or does he love Matt? Maybe even both? Also, L will talk to the Wammy kids through the computer.  
**


	29. Miscalculation

Snow began to hover down from the overcast sky, giving everything outside a brand new coat of cold. Everything, including children.

"Ohhh! It's snow!" came the delighted squeals.

Most of the older children were content to stay inside where it was warm, but a few ventured out to keep an eye on the younger generation. A certain popular blond was one of these, and he dragged his reluctant partner along. As soon as they were out in the crisp air, Mello threw his hands up in a very un-thirteen-like way and began trying to catch the little clumps of water crystals. Matt snorted in amusement as all of the little kids screamed happily and copied Mello. Even a few of the other older kids joined in the game. A wide grin spread across his face and soon even he was jumping around like an idiot.

The soft click of a piece of the puzzle falling into place was the only sound heard in the playroom. Near's chin rested on his knee as he focused on his newest toy: a blank puzzle with a capital L in the corner. It was actually quite fun considering that very few forms of entertainment could stretch his mind in such a way. The pieces would float in the expanse of his mind, twisting and turning until they found their rightful place in the whole. Then his hand would reach over and place the deformed square.

Not only was it fun, but this new game had a calming effect on Near. He could let all thoughts slip away for a little bit and just focus on the puzzle. In that moment, he felt a strange clarity, almost like a tickle to his senses. It was December 13, and something was going to happen. The pressure was building up and it would burst free. Clicking another piece into its rightful place, Near couldn't help but wonder what Mello was planning on doing.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Hurry up, Matt!" Mello whined excitedly.

It was already dusk and most of the children were getting ready for a Christmas movie to be put on. Others just lazed around, reading or otherwise entertaining themselves quietly. However, Mello and Matt weren't gong to be joining the other this particular evening because the young blond already had plans. Today, he was fully intending to carry out the plan he had been spending weeks preparing for.

Matt just dragged his feet along behind his eager friend. This was an utter nightmare. If he had known that Mello wanted to watch porn with him _only_, he would have never offered something as stupid as "I'll do whatever you want" for a birthday present. As soon as the words had fallen from his lips, he knew that he had made a terrible mistake. Mello's Cheshire grin was more than enough proof.

"Look, what's the big deal? It'll be weird if it's just the two of us," he tried weakly.

"Why would that be weird?" Mello asked, still leading the way to their secret room.

"Well, because…uh…" Yeah, saying "because I won't be able to keep my mind off of you and may even end up doing something regrettable if we're alone" wouldn't be the brightest idea.

"Don't complain," Mello chastised. "You always enjoy yourself anyway." A blush rose up the younger boy's face. The way Mello said it made it seem like he had been watching Matt or something. Which obviously didn't help the tent in the gamer's jeans. Thank Roger for the new oversized sweater!

Cautiously, the boys made sure that they weren't being watched and then slipped into the secret room. Mello still wasn't sure how the others had managed to find the place, but more now than ever, he was thankful for its privacy. As Matt began to hack through the system, the blond found it extremely hard to keep calm there was a hornet's nest buzzing angrily in his stomach and he felt like throwing up.

"Ready?" Matt asked nervously, praying to his Nintendo deity that he wouldn't do anything stupid. He was just going to close his eyes and jerk off to thoughts of very hot blond Mel- no, hot blond chicks! Jerk off to blond chicks, to blond chicks, to blond chicks. He repeated the mantra fervishly as he turned on the first video.

Sitting back a little, he pointedly avoided looking over at Mello and immediately closed his eyes. Slipping down the copper zipper, he stuck his hand down the front of his underwear and stroked the stiffening member. It was already so hot and it only took a few stokes to get fully erect. The perverse noises from the computer supplied his hyperactive mind with the perfect soundtrack to his fantasies. It was no longer his hands touching and the warm breath ghosting over the sensitive nerves was enough to make him want to scream. He pumped faster, his hand keeping the same pace as his breath.

A soft moist tongue dragged over the weeping head.

Matt jerked in surprise, his eyes shooting open to see if he was still fantasizing or if someone was really touching him. The small fact that he and Mello were the only ones in the room didn't register at that moment. When he did look down, Matt wished that he had kept his eyes shut. Cerulean eyes glanced up and flushed lips were stretched over his erect shaft. Those delicate pale hands pushed his scarred hands away before one wrapped around the base and the other alighted softly on his clothed thigh. A single finger curled around the waistband of his underwear and dragged it down enough to fully expose his needy cock and tightening testicles. Only then did it really begin.

Blush painted cheeks hollowed out with a clicked sound and Mello pulled his mouth back to the tip. His wicked hand twisted the skin at the base, easily eliciting a groan from Matt. A pop sounded out as Mello accidentally pulled back too far, and a string of saliva hung from his panting mouth to the glistening and throbbing member. Matt tried to say something, but it turned into a high-pitched cry as Mello licked over the slit as if he was a child testing the flavor of a scoop of ice cream.

Those bright eyes glanced up again nervously before his mouth descended once more, taking in the pulsing flesh. Mello's eyes watered as he gagged, but he kept forcing himself until he had taken the entire length into his mouth. The tip was rubbing against the fleshy back of his throat and his lower lip was trembling against the boy's scrotum. But, instead of pulling back as expected, Mello began swallowing around Matt's member. The brunette whimpered and gripped the blond hair for dear life. The feeling swallowing him was so intense that he nearly forgot to breath.

Instead, he gripped the other boy's hair tighter and panted harshly. Not being able to take it anymore, Mello succumbed to a gag and let the meaty flesh slip from between his lips until he got to the tip. Matt was overcome by the stimulation and cried out hoarsly as he spilled his seed into Mello's warm mouth. The taste was so unexpected that Mello couldn't help but pull his mouth away halfway through Matt's climax. The remaining semen spurted against his face, making him squeak in surprise. Still out of breath and tingling from the orgasm, Matt looked down at his flushed friend, his _best_ friend, his _male_ friend.

"Mattie?" Mello questioned as he ran his finger through the trail of cum on his face.

"N-no."

"Hunh? Mattie?"

No, seeing that face, feeling those hands, and those fucking lips, it was all too much. "No! You can't do that, Mello!" he screeched angrily.

Mello looked surprised and a little hurt. "But why? I wanted-"

"Stop! I don't want to hear it! Just shut the fuck up and leave me alone!" Haphazardly tucking himself back into his undergarment and zipping up his pants, Matt bolted out of the room, leaving a confused and teary Mello.

A hiccup of a sob bubbled up before Mello began crying in earnest. Why did Matt get so mad? He had only done what the girls on the computer did and Matt always enjoyed _that_. Tearing a tissue from the box, he wiped the sticky white stuff from his face as he continued to cry. Was it because he didn't swallow? It was an accident! His throat was hurting and the taste was so terrible that he reflexively spat it up. Couldn't his Mattie forgive him for that? He would do better next time!

But no one gave him an answer. A big breasted woman bounced up and down on the screen, an ad for another shady website.

~_~_~_~_~_

L had been eager to get back to Wammy's House. After he returned from the strenuous BB case, another urgent matter came to his attention and he had been forced to stay in Israel for nearly two months. But, as planned, he had arrived back on December 13, Mello's birthday. Unfortunately, it was nearing midnight, so he would be able to give the boy his twenty pounds of Swiss chocolate until later the next day. Oh well, Mello would be excited even if the gift was a little late.

With practiced ease, L slipped through the shadows of the orphanage and mulled over the newest cases that were lined up. The world was such a cruel and wicked place, and it seemed that for every case he solved and every criminal he locked away or doomed to death there were several hundreds of more crimes being committed. Humanity wasn't progressing or getting any better; hell, they weren't even at a standstill. A part of him wondered is his hobby had gone too far. Were the results enough to justify all the work he was doing? Realistically, there was nothing that he could do to end the immorality and crimes. In essence, that made all his work irrelevant. He was willingly Sisyphus, pushing his justice up the steep mountainside only to have it roll back to the bottom every day.

With such heavy thoughts weighing on his mind, he padded to his room, ready for his next sugar fix. As soon as he entered the dark room, a small sound startled him into stillness. There was heavy breathing and then a pathetic sob interrupted with a heavy sigh. Dark eyes accustomed to the lack of light fell to the small figure curled up on his favorite arm chair. No, the figure wasn't small; he just looked vulnerable. Yes, there was a 99.8% chance that the crying lump was none other than Mello.

"What happened?" he asked wearily as he eyed the wrapped candy on the other side of the room.

"M-my chest h-hurts," he sobbed quietly.

L tilted his head. "If you are in physical pain, it would be a good idea to go to the infirmary."

The boy expelled a shaky sigh. "No, it…Mattie…"

He couldn't even finish his statement and began bawling. Not knowing what else to do, L patted Mello's back softly. "Whatever transpired between you and Matt can be fixed; it is always like that."

The blond pulled L into the chair with him and forced the lanky arms to wrap around his trembling form. The older man raised an eyebrow but he figured that dumping the boy off his lap wouldn't be conducive to a happy Mello.

"He hates me," Mello finally muttered, wiping his tear streaked face against L's chest. The muscles hidden beneath the plain white material had been getting steadily harder and more defined, and Mello still couldn't decide if he liked that or not. It wasn't as comfortable for cuddling.

L shook his head and continued to hold the boy. He had never understood children undoubtedly accusing those they cared for of "hating" them. It didn't take much of an imagination to see countless scenarios of Matt getting angry with Mello, but none of them included Matt hating him. It was inconceivable, even to the world's three greatest detectives.

"I believe that you are overreacting. As usual."

Mello didn't know how to reply to that. It was true that he was a "drama queen" (to use the words of that idiot, Near), but this was far more serious than his usual tantrum. Matt told him to shut up in a very serious tone and demanded that he stay away. If that wasn't hate, then nothing was. He couldn't really explain that to L, though. It had taken a good six weeks to build up the courage to do that, and Matt had effectively hurt him. Another sigh shook his entire frame and he wiped his eyes. Why were things so confusing?! During the blow job, Matt had really enjoyed it, and then he went berserk. If he really liked it, then why did he get mad? A strange thought occurred to the genius.

"L? Is it wrong for guys to like other guys?" Ever since they were little, Matt had been really uncomfortable with his clingy ways, and it was true that he had never seen any of the other guys acting that way toward each other.

The detective tightened his grip around the younger boy. "It depends on how you look at it. If your morals revolve around certain types of religion, then the answer is yes. On the other hand, there are just as many schools of thought that say that homosexuality between any of the genders is okay and should be celebrated just as much as heterosexuality."

"What do you think?" L's opinion was the only one that mattered anyway.

He paused to think about it, and his mind drifted back to the conversation with his mother not so long ago. "To answer your question in the most simple of terms, I don't particularly care what gender you are attracted. I don't believe in such a foolish notion of 'true love' or in the idea that there is only one person meant for you. To me, it doesn't matter who you are attracted to."

Wrapping his arms around L's thin waist, Mello let his eyes drift close. If L didn't think that there was anything wrong with it, then he wouldn't have to worry about such a stupid thing. He could love whoever he wanted to, whenever he wanted to.

~_~_~_~_~_

Later that morning, L had forced Mello out of his room with the strict instruction to go make up with Matt. Personally, Mello thought that the mission was doomed to failure, but the detective had been insistent. The child's pale bare feet shuffled across the itchy carpet, compelled to do L's will regardless of his feelings on the matter. Worst-case scenarios raced through his mind at an alarming rate; Matt could punch him, scream "I hate you", ignore him, tell Roger what happened-

He was standing in front of their bedroom door. His unsteady hand lifted up in a tight fist. Because of the fight, Mello felt that a knock would be appropriate. Two knocks and then silence. No voice or sound from the other side filtered to his ears. Was that a bad sign? Unfortunately, he had no way of knowing what to expect, but he bravely pushed the door in.

"Matt?" he whispered before his eyes fell on the beautiful sight of his favorite brunette spread out on his bed playing on his newest Game Boy.

Even though his goggles hindered Mello from seeing his eyes, he imagined that the younger boy kept his eyes glued to the screen. "Have you been bugging Loyal again?" he asked in a friendly tone.

"Um, w-well I thought that you-"

"I'm hungry. Wanna steal some candy from the pantry?"

"…Sure." Matt hated any sweets other than ice pops.

"You can cause the diversion this time!" Matt replied a little too excitedly.

It was obvious that Matt was pretending that what happened the day before never occurred. He was begging Mello not to bring it up, not to put a kink in their relationship. The chocolate lover smiled sadly, his chest aching a little more.

"Maybe I should steal one of Roger's bug books and give it to one of the younger artist kids." His selfish wish to love Matt even more would have to be pushed to the back of his mind. After all, this was good enough. Just that company and comfortable feeling.

~_~_~_~_~_

The echo of metal clanging against metal grated on the man's sensitive ears. Bright lights swung back and forth lazily from outside of each cell, casting shadows in a contemporary dance. Heh, they wouldn't want the prisoners hanging themselves from those lamps, now would they? The straightjacket was to ensure that he wouldn't go about tearing off the meticulous bandages to stare at his now-foreign flesh. Still, he stared at his left thigh. There was no feeling at all there, and he wondered what it would look like once the coverings were taken off. It was obviously still there, but the damage must have been terrible to completely burn off his nerves. He couldn't even feel pressure. Nothing.

Everything else, other than what he couldn't feel, hurt. It was a constant stabbing pain, but there was nothing that anyone could do. The bandages didn't help, the straightjacket only added to the pain, and the drugs they gave him only lasted so long. Like a mocking lover, they teased him with hope of relief, only to find that nothing lasted. It was possible to put him back into a coma, but that wouldn't do. After all, he had crimes to pay for, punishments to take. There was a group of very unhappy people that demanded justice and it couldn't very well be served if he was unconscious. Not that the coma allowed him any respite. He suffered every bit mentally that he did physically. No chance of peace or rest. Nothing.

'_I love you,' _it whispered, every words dripping with the addictive honey of relief.

"A bit…late," he managed to force out past heavy lips. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

'_You hurt me. I was crying.'_

"C-cry…for me."

'_I am.'_

"Hehehe…ahhaha…ha…bastard."

'_I love you too. Always will.'_

_

* * *

_**Author's Notes: Sisyphus is a character from Greek mythology. He was being punished in Tartarus by having to roll a huge boulder up the side of a steep hill, only to watch as it rolled back to the bottom at the end of every day; he was doomed to do this for all eternity.**


	30. Ghost

**Dedicated to ToNightIamgone and Gackt, Miyavi, and a slew of other J-pop and J-rock stars for their songs pushing me through the writing process.  
**

**

* * *

**The clang of a door could be heard over the din of prisoners screaming obscenities to each other or just screaming in horror. In this maximum security prison, there was no such thing as silence. If you were lucky enough to get solitary confinement, it was a possibility that one might get sleep, but otherwise a prisoner would spend his down time in a state of unresponsiveness rather than actual sleep. The body might get some rest, but more than likely not. Was this what L endured in his constant non-sleeping state? Perhaps not. He never had to fear the guards because depending on their mood they would either kick the shit out of you or pull down your pants and show you exactly how much a bad boy you were.

Beyond heard the other prisoners quiet down considerably. Only the real crazies were still screaming, so that meant that the guards were coming down to pay a visit. They used to take particular pleasure in coming to torment him, but B had put an end to that fairly quickly. He was fine with taking the beatings; he was no stranger to those. However, once they placed their filthy lusty hands on him, it didn't matter that part of his body couldn't even be felt. It obeyed his commands and he sent that guard to the infirmary. Although that probably wasn't the wisest idea, since they would undoubtedly come after him again in gang rape style, he refused to lie down and take it. Misora wouldn't top him, L wouldn't top him, and Almost never topped him. Predictably, the key slid into the lock of his cell and B allowed his lips to curl up at the edges. He would be insulted if they brought any less than six people.

"Come to play?!" he asked before letting loose an amused cackle.

"You just want to get your ass whipped, don't you?" the guard sneered. Patrick Tops was not one of the more pleasant guards, but he didn't scare Beyond any more than a fluffy bunny would. He had seen far worse things in his tortured mind.

"If a pussy like you could do that, I wouldn't be laughing now, would I? Fucking pansies, the lot of you."

Patrick ruthlessly stomped on the foot he broke while kicking the hell out of that other guard. A straightjacket hadn't exactly made his self-defense easy. The crunch of other delicate bones breaking didn't even make him visibly wince. "You've got a guest today, so I'll be nice. Say anything else, and I'll fuck your face up so bad that your own mother wouldn't recognize you."

"Ah, and she would recognize me now?" Some scars weren't healing up well and the state didn't exactly want to waste the money prettying up the convicts.

The man grabbed a handful of his short unkempt black hair and pulled hard so that their eyes could meet, cursed ones to bloodshot ones. He placed his calloused hand over a thin patch of skin where his nerves were particularly sensitive and shoved down on it. B's jaw clenched shut, refusing to utter even so much as a whimper and his good toes curled up against the cement floor. Patrick smirked as he pressed even harder, drawing sweat from the prisoner, but B never cried out. His eyes glazed over as he forced himself back into the safety of his mind.

"_You shouldn't tease. That's exactly what your big mouth gets you."_

Bitchy little A shouldn't be such a pessimist. Then again, he was right; if B would just lie down and take it like all the other prisoners he wouldn't have to face their rage so often. Through the haze of pain, B couldn't feel the prison guard hauling him to his feet and placing a blindfold on him. For several minutes, he didn't even realize that he was being dragged down the hall and into the next area over. It was supposed to be a lounge for the ever diligent guards, but it had been cleared out today for a very special visitor. No one really knew who he was or why he didn't want to be seen by anyone. All they knew was that orders had come from high up and Beyond was to be taken to see the mystery guest. Upon entering the room, the potent smell of sugar assaulted B's sensitive nose. Dragging himself back to consciousness, he realized the strange situation. His time in the Games had conditioned his body to automatically adjust to his surroundings. Being blindfolded was no disadvantage because his smell and hearing were on overdrive. Even his sense of touch became more pronounced, only to compound his agony.

After being roughly shoved down into a seat, B heard a familiar voice give a command only a few feet in front of him. "You may leave now."

"Sir, I don't know who you are, but this is a highly dangerous criminal. He killed-"

"I believe your orders were to do as I say without question."

The guard grunted unhappily. "I just don't want to be blamed for anything that might happen to you."

"Leave."

There was no room for discussion. After some shuffling and a few choice words under his breath, Patrick left the room. Leaning back in his seat, B tried to get his lips to curl up in a smirk.

"Hello, dear. I never…would've thought that…you'd…come out of your way to…to see me." It was still difficult for him to speak long sentences and his lungs wheezed audibly. When there was no reply, Beyond took it upon himself to speak again. "Surely you…d-didn't miss me, Ice Princess?"

"…You could tell?"

"It's only been a few years," B croaked before a small coughing fit tore at the slowly healing flesh in his lungs.

L was silent for a little longer. He stared at the young man who was once his Backup. The black hair was now short and dull, the exposed skin covered in burn scars and bandages, and even more disturbingly, there was evidence of abuse. Bruises and scratches could be seen on his flesh and since he was restrained in a straightjacket it was impossible that those marks were self-inflicted.

"They're beating you," he stated.

"Pfft, they try." B was as cocky as ever. "They…can't hurt…m-me."

"_Don't be an idiot, dear. Eventually they will if you keep taunting them."_

"You're probably taunting them," L mumbled as he bit at his thumb. "Still, I'll handle the situation."

B's mouth twitched into a frown. "I d-don't need…you're…fucking help-p…P-princess," he snarled.

The pain stung through L's chest as he continued to gaze at the broken body of his Beyond. It was obvious from the evaluations that he received on the young man's condition that his mind had been shattered by the trauma as well. Still, what could he say? What should he say?

"Why am I even here?" he mumbled to himself.

"Hmmm, why i-indeed."

"I suppose it's to tell you that you'll be serving at least three life sentences in this prison with no chance of parole. You must pay for your crimes."

The blindfolded man's face seemed to darken. "And what…about…your crimes?"

That wasn't something L expected to hear at all. "My crimes? What are you talking about?"

"Olga," B spat. "What a-about all…those, all those you d-don't…help. Th-they _die_ b-because you…you're not interested…enough to help them!" His breathing had become labored and he seemed highly agitated. If he didn't calm down, L would be forced to cut his visit short.

"I'm only one man. It's foolish to blame me for not solving every case in the entire world." He wondered who exactly this Olga was.

"Shinigami," B puffed, the snarl still evident in his voice. "You let them…die. C-can't you see?! I _have_ become your successor!" A wheezy cough interrupted. "I'm a shinigami, j-just like you. Evil eyes…a-and all…"

At first, B was too busy trying to catch his breath to hear what L was doing. Then he felt bony fingers fidgeting with the knot on the back of his blindfold. "Don't open your eyes," the voice commanded, his hot wet breath against B's intact ear. The material fell away, but Beyond found himself obeying. His eyes remained shut. L moved to be in front of him and he felt those same cold fingers stroking gently across his scarred flesh and the soiled bandages.

Feeling those curious hands, Beyond couldn't help but think back to Mello, that happy little golden child. The boy had never failed to bring a smile to his face and had been a most wonderful companion. He wasn't shy like A was and he never shied away from the strange physical contact that B craved. In his own way, Mello needed the contact even more. Even as he was bold and strong, he was weak and needy. Without companionship, he fell apart like a house of cards.

That's what separated him from L the Princess. L was smarter and he was able to overcome the need for companions. He didn't _need_ others to function, and probably did better when there was no one around. If Mello didn't learn to cut away his emotions, gouge them from his fleshy body, he would never be good enough. And that was exactly what he was hoping would happen. Mello didn't deserve to be locked away into a life of coldness and separation. If that light faded from his eyes he wouldn't be a golden child. He would be marble just like the rest of them. A few tears stung painfully as they slipped down his cheeks.

"Don't make him a m-marble child," he whispered against L's warm skin. "Not…not Mello."

L wiped away at the moisture that had gathered at the corner of his eyes. This broken thing would never be the Beyond that he remembered. This would never be fixed. He was delusional, he was insane. He leaned down to press a kiss to the only one he had ever engaged sexually, but thought better of it. If B snapped he might be able to inflict damage and that would get both of them into trouble.

Where was the B with the strawberry smile?

Where was the B with cold hands?

Where was the B with the knowing eyes?

"I have to go," L sighed. Pausing at the door, a thought occurred to the older genius. The sound of clothing being removed caught B's fractured attention. "You can open your eyes now," L murmured.

Shinigami eyes stared right into the face of Death. Black ink etched the hellish figure across a pale back and the painted scythe seemed to gleam in the poor lighting. The skin stretched as the detective straightened up, his shirt held carelessly in his hand. Tilting his head to the side, he provided Beyond with a view of his delicate lips and cheek; the rest was covered with his wild hair.

"I'll see you…in Hell," B purred before the unnatural laugh began to bubble up.

"Yes, I'll see you there," L replied before leaving. He would not come back again.

~_~_~_~_~_

It was stupid. L stared at the blond, hearing those words from burned lips. B had asked him to spare this boy from the life of a detective. If L had been a less intelligent person, he would have said that B begged him to spare Mello. That was stupid. The hurt feeling inside of him was stupid. The way that he was looking at Mello was stupid.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked worriedly. "You haven't touched your candy at all today."

L stared down at the sweets and almost felt sick. He wasn't hungry. "I'll be fine, Mello."

The boy's frown deepened. "Does that mean that you aren't okay right now? Can I do anything to help?"

Intelligent boy. He gazed at the window, watching as snow flitted down. "It's nothing."

Mello dropped the book he had been reading and straddled the man's thighs. He was thirteen now, taller, lankier, stronger. This wasn't the same soft hellion that had arrived on his plane all those years ago, determined to drive him insane with all the _touching_. This person was still soft, but under that were the steely muscles, the hardening eyes.

"Don't say 'no'," Mello ordered before leaning down and taking those sweet lips into his own.

'_What has he done?'_ L wondered in his mind as he let his eyes shut out the images. His mouth was open and tasting the boy, touching what he shouldn't. _'I _can't _make Mello a successor of mine if he's already become the successor for someone else.' _For someone who had once kissed him.

Pulling away from the kiss, Mello planted a butterfly kiss on the detective's nose before leaning in to kiss the man's mouth again. This time, L held him back. His dark eyes opened with a sigh and looked at the honest boy. Mello was just trying to help. "Is it better?" he asked, sounding like an innocent little child.

"Where did you learn to kiss?" L deadpanned. "You're far too young to be doing stuff like that."

Mello giggled and snuggled to the man's chest. "Aren't you too old to be eating so much sugar?"

"One can never be too old for sugar."

"So I can have all the chocolate I want?"

"Until it gives you fatal diabetes, I suppose so."

"Hey," Mello pouted. "You don't have diabetes, so I think I'll be just fine."

"Well, you don't practice capoeira like I do."

"And you don't play football like I do," Mello shot back. His victorious smile curled up.

Even if he wanted to, L didn't have it in him to throw Mello out of the running to become his successor. Mello and Near were both highly intelligent, but he couldn't be sure that one of them would constantly beat the other. Their strengths were impressive, but their weaknesses were serious. If they didn't find ways to compensate for their weaknesses, neither of them would ever be able to compare with him. However, if they worked _together_…well, it would be interesting to see what would come out of that.

~_~_~_~_~_

Sitting on her couch, Naomi Misora stared at her hands. A sickening feeling was pooling in her gut, one that had been haunting her since the BB murder case. Raye was coming over for dinner, but she was going to have to tell him something. That's why there wasn't any food being cooked. He would probably get angry and leave, and his plans for proposing to her would be forgotten. She knew that he had been trying to set her up for the big question, but she had successfully avoided it so far. Today, though, she had to stop lying to him and let him know what was going on. He had every right to know.

Her front door jiggled a little as he fiddled with the lock, but soon enough, Raye Penber was walking in with a bag of desserts. "Misora, I'm here!" he called out as he took his shoes off.

"I'm…here in the living room," she replied.

Her boyfriend peeked around the corner in surprise. "Oh, I thought you'd be in the kitchen."

"Can you come sit here with me for a minute?" she asked, feeling even sicker.

"Uh, sure. Is something wrong?"

She remained quiet as he took a seat next to her. The brown bag filled with pastries was set down carefully beside the couch. Forcing herself to look at him, she could see the concern in his eyes. Guilt had been eating away at her and now the pain was even more pronounced. Raye had been nothing but wonderful and perfect for her.

"I betrayed your trust," she started off bluntly.

"Huh? What?"

"Raye, I haven't…I haven't been entirely honest with you."

He reached over and took her shaking hand. "Misora, what's wrong? What do you mean?"

"I'm pregnant." The words hung heavily in the air and the attractive man was gaping in shock. She had to continue. "Please don't be mistaken. He's not yours."

That statement seemed to completely floor her flabbergasted boyfriend. Still, there was no nicer way to state it and she had never been one to beat around the bush. This would be for the best.

"_He's_ not mine? How many…but who?"

Staring at her hands again she shook her head. "He's twenty-two weeks."

"Twenty-two weeks?! Hell, if you've been cheating on me this long, why bother? Am I that much of a fucking sap?"

He was upset and she knew that he had every right. She would not back down and would take responsibility for her actions. "It was a one-night stand, Raye. I never saw him again."

"But why?" he demanded, those always kind eyes revealing how hurt he was.

Why indeed. Even after the fact she had asked herself that same question and she had never come up with a good answer. "I don't know, Raye. I really don't."

"Was I not good enough for you?" he pressed, trying to find a solid reason, something that would make sense to his wounded heart. "Am I not exciting enough for you?"

Naomi took a deep shuddering breath as she remembered those animalistic eyes, those savage hands. "I'm sorry, Raye. I had tried to forget that it ever happened, but then…then…"

She couldn't hold it back anymore. The woman who claimed that no one could top her, control her, she broke down and cried. It had been painful enough trying to forget about that man and what they had done, but finding out that she was pregnant with a murderer's son had nearly torn her apart. Hiding it from Raye and the others at the FBI was even worse.

Raye reached out to touch her, to comfort her, but he stopped short. As much as she hurt him, he knew that he was still in love with Naomi. Seeing her cry was just adding to his misery. "Naomi, please…"

"P-please, be angry with me," she hiccupped, angry with herself for being so weak and humiliated at crying in front of this man. "I hurt you and I'm sorry, but that doesn't mean you have to forgive me. I'll understand if you never want to see me again."

Warm arms wrapped around her and pulled her into and unexpected hug. Raye squeezed her tightly, rubbing her back and she just sobbed into his shoulder. It was always like this. She would do something stupid, and he would always forgive her and take her back. Even bearing another man's child didn't chase him away. _'I don't deserve him,'_ she thought to herself.

Once she was able to calm down a little, she pulled back to look into his dark and serious eyes. "I love you, Raye. He…was a mistake; you are not. I'm really, really sorry."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I forgive you, Naomi," he whispered. "I know you're being honest."

Even knowing that she was forgiven didn't make her feel entirely better. Raye would still be hurt by this and it would take time for the two of them to get over this, but she intended to try harder in their relationship. She would make it work, no matter what it took. She would stay with him no matter what he did. It was the least that she could do for him after this.

"Please don't worry," she added, "I'll put him up for adoption as soon as he's born. You won't have to worry about him at all."

Raye sighed. "Don't you want to find his…father?"

Naomi pulled away from his arms and held herself. He didn't know what he was saying, but those words still sent a chill through his body. "No, Raye. I already know where he is."

He looked a little worried. "You know where he is? Are you guys friends?"

"He's in prison," she snapped a little more harshly than she intended.

"Priso- oh. Oh, no, no. You can't mean…"

Her dark eyes stared right into his eyes. "Yes. The man behind the Wara Ningyo murders."

Raye fell against the back of the couch just staring ahead in wonder and disgust. Out of all the people in the _entire_ world, she slept with him. The guy who burned himself to a crisp and was now serving three life sentences without a chance of parole, that's who his Naomi slept with. The dark-haired woman rested her forehead against her palms, exhausted already. Both of them just sat awkwardly in the silence.

When the clock rung out at the top of the hour, Misora shook her head. "Are you hungry?" she asked tiredly.

"I'll order pizza or something," he mumbled, still looking across the room at a photo of them at the beach.

"Look, I know that you probably don't want anything to do with him, but…" her voice broke a little and she had to swallow hard before speaking again. "But I h-have an ultrasound and I was wondering if you'd…like to…see it." there were tears in her eyes, but she was trying her hardest not to let them fall.

Blinking slowly, Raye looked over at his girlfriend. Even if he wasn't thrilled about the situation, Naomi was still a pregnant woman and would need all the support she could get. He didn't have to love the baby to love her and care for her. Forcing a smile, he rubbed her arm comfortingly. "Yes, I'd love to."

The "thank you" didn't need to be said out loud. It was clear enough in her eyes and expression. She squeezed his hand tightly before getting up to fetch her son's first picture. Staring after her, Raye examined her carefully. If she was twenty-two weeks pregnant, how had he not noticed that? It was true that they hadn't had sex in a while, but still. She didn't look particularly fat or anything. She did fill in her clothes a little more, but it never occurred to him that it was because she was carrying a child within her. When she came back from her room, he noticed that she was wearing baggier clothes, but it wasn't enough to gain suspicion.

She held out the ultrasound picture and explained it to him. There was his head and there was his feet. And he was sucking his thumb. Naomi nearly cried saying that, but again she was able to control her emotions. "They told me he was a boy," she finally said.

"Yeah, I figured that." Honestly, he couldn't really see anything in the black and white picture, but if she could that was fine. "When's he due?"

"May 16," she replied.

"So what are you going to do about the FBI? Even if you're not showing much now, it'll be impossible to hide it later. And I don't think you should be in such dangerous situations when you're carrying a baby."

Ever the caring one. Raye just couldn't help himself. "I'm not sure how, but I think I'll try to convince the boss to give me some kind of surveillance."

"Don't worry," he sighed. "I'll think of something."

Shyly taking his hand, Naomi leaned up against him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Again, they sat in silence.

~_~_~_~_~_

All of the children had been gathered together in the common room where a laptop stood perched on top of a wooden table. Roger ordered them to all gather around the laptop in a way that the camera could capture everyone. Of course, they were all geniuses and figured it out pretty quickly. Near clung to the back wall where he was able to play with some of the toys he brought along. Two puzzles and three Rubik cubes that he could entertain himself with. Mello leaned against the wall with the windows, just barely in the sight of the camera and he began munching on a new bar of chocolate that Matt had stolen for him. Said friend was standing closer to the computer, undoubtedly checking how suped up it was.

Roger sat next to the laptop and clicked on a button. The speakers blinked to life and the giant letter L appeared in the center of the screen. A gasp sounded out through the entire room, and all conversation ceased. Mello raised an eyebrow, but otherwise kept silent. He just focused on licking his treat.

"I am L," came the garbled voice from the large speakers. "I can see each of you through the camera attached to the laptop and can hear you all through the microphone." All of the children looked at the tiny camera, trying to imagine the person on the other side. "It's good to see you all. Please feel free to ask me any questions, any of you."

For a fraction of a second, all was quiet. The children looked at each other, waiting to see who would be the first to ask _the _L a question. Matt snorted.

"Tch, you're pretty arrogant, aren't you?" he asked with a little grin. Mello chuckled from his spot against the wall.

"Yes, I am," L replied, making all the kids laugh.

The awkwardness was broken and hands began to fly up. L would call a child by name and they would excitedly ask a question, any question. The detective answered them all, surprising many and making them laugh. He even mocked his own handwriting as being difficult to read. Mello crunched away on his chocolate knowing the truth.

A girl in the front rose her hand, eager to ask her question. "L, do creepy things scare you?"

"Scare, did you say?"

Another child decided to throw in his two cents. "But I think that there's nothing that can scare L!"

"Well," L interrupted, "maybe ghosts."

Another chorus of laughter went up and the same girl clapped her hands excitedly. "Ah, just like me!"

The boy next to her shoved her playfully. "Stupid, there's no comparison with you and L!"

"But L," a boy jumped in, "what about all the cases you're doing? Doesn't any of those things you see scare you?"

All the children got silent, patiently waiting for an answer. Most of them were trying to compete for a shot at becoming the next L, and such a question held a lot of water. If L was scared, then they had no chance at all.

"The ghosts scare me the most," he answered after a moment. "Those who behave like humans without ever having tried a thrill. Those who eat, if they've never been hungry. Those who study, if they don't have any interest. Those who defends friends, even if they don't have any. I too could not do anything in front of a ghost of that kind." Then he paused and the children leaned in, all except Mello with his consuming mouth and Near with his manipulating fingers. "Probably because it's just like me."

Near clicked another piece of the puzzle into place, his interest ever so slightly piqued. Most children probably wouldn't be able to understand the meaning behind those words, the hypocrisy that he was willing to admit, even in code. Grey eyes looked up at Mello and he was unsurprised to see the cold fascination. A small smile played on his lips as he sultrily licked on his newest treat and his eyes never left the scripted L on the screen. Why didn't the most obsessed child in Wammy's House ask a question?

"L, why _do _you solve cases?" one of the artists asked. "Won't you be bound to run into a 'ghost' like you described? Is your sense of justice so strong that it overrules your hesitance?"

"It's not a sense of justice," he replied easily, shocking most of the children. Matt looked slightly amused. "If you measured good and evil deeds by current laws, I would be responsible for many crimes. Figuring out difficult cases is my hobby." The children began to look confused. "For me too, it's simply prolonging something I enjoy doing. The same way you all like to mysteries and riddles, or clear video games more quickly…and if it means being able to clear a case, I don't play fair. I'm a dishonest , cheating human being who hates losing. That's why I only take on cases that interest me. It's not justice at all."

Slate grey eyes stared at the screen, the Rubik cube resting peacefully in his hand. The boy was completely surprised that a person who knew what kind of godlike position he was in would be honest enough to crush his image in the minds of the children in the house. Who would want to be like that arrogant spoiled brat? Near would have smiled at that moment if it wasn't for the fact that there were others around. _This _L he could like, even a little.

A little voice whispered in the child's mind that this was also the L that he hated for making Mello obsessed and for tearing them apart.

* * *

**Author's notes: Okay, so I know that B only technically kissed L on the neck before, but it was still a kiss, and the first one that L ever had! XD (If you have no clue what I'm talking about, I'm referring to L's comment that Mello had already become a successor.)**

**Ugh, not entirely happy with this chapter. It felt wrong to be writing about B in such a way, and yet I think that this is probably a realistic possibility. Still, it's horrible and makes me sad. Well, I hope you all enjoyed the little surprise of Beyond's son! Thanks for all the constant support!  
**


	31. Kira's Rising

The scent of sweat and pain filled the small plain room. There was some slight panting as well, but other than that only the sounds of the midwife bustling about and trying to comfort the mother could be heard. Then again, Naomi Misora wasn't really hearing anything. Lying propped up against the wall, with pillows supporting her, the woman seemed to have shut down save for the shuddering and heavy breathing. The midwife watched her worriedly, carefully applying a cool cloth to the expecting mother's head.

"Don't worry, hun," she tried, pressing back some of the sweat-moistened hair. "It'll be all right."

Naomi had been in labor for 13 hours already, and had quietly suffered every agonizing minute in the privacy of the small birth clinic. She had requested a natural birth without any medication or interference and she probably would have given birth without any supervision if it weren't for the fact that Raye was scared of complications. She was tough, but if anything went wrong it would be wise to have a professional around. Jessica had been a midwife for 25 years already, and was more than experienced enough for the job. Still, she was worried that if Naomi didn't dilate fully in the next hour or so, she would have to take the girl to a hospital. It was normal for women to have varying lengths of labor but 13 hours made her nervous. Still, she added it up to the fact that this was the woman's first child and her body was trying to make adjustments.

"Check again," Naomi whispered, closing her glazed eyes. The exhaustion was evident in her voice, but Jessica suspected that it was more than just physical exhaustion. This woman had been heavy-hearted since the moment they met a few days ago.

Patting her leg encouragingly, Jessica examined her once more. This time, though, she breathed a sigh of relief. "You've finally passed 5 centimeters, so let's get you into that water." The recently sterilized tub was filled with carefully regulated warm water. Another nurse had already made all the adjustments, so she didn't even bother checking it. "There, how's that?"

It was impossible not to let out a small groan of relief as the water eased her cramped back muscles, but Misora forced herself to otherwise remain quiet. This was her penance for being with that murderer and she fully intended to suffer through it quietly and proudly. "I'll be fine," she sighed, trying to get the uptight midwife to relax a little. The small woman had been bustling about like a mother hen for all 13 hours and it was tiring her out more than the labor was.

Jessica looked around the empty room, a pang of sadness clenching her heart. "Are you sure that you don't want anyone in here supporting you?" This was the first baby that she would deliver that wouldn't have an excited audience. It was almost as if he wasn't wanted or celebrated at all, as if he was a punishment to be endured.

"I'm sure."

Simple, quick, and emotionless. She couldn't understand why anyone would choose to be alone at such a time. Little did she know that Naomi wasn't alone; memories that she desperately tried to push away were haunting her every minute, keeping her company. Closing her eyes to keep the tears at bay, Naomi couldn't help but see _him_ crawling along the floor like some horror film creature or holding out a pair of little girl panties with his thumb and forefinger and grinning like a pervert. She could hear him complaining about her stepping on his stomach as she raced across the room in excitement and she felt that first kiss all over again. There was no comparing him to Raye, they were on two completely different levels. One was good for her and one was bad. Why was it that she continued to yearn for the bad? Feeling sick, she knew that if Ryuzaki hadn't been arrested and put in jail, she would have left Raye for him. There was no doubt of that in her mind, and she hated herself for that. She hated that she would break a man's heart without a second thought and go to someone who could have very well ruined her. Or made her inexplicably happy. Another contraction squeezed her insides as she wondered how he would have reacted to hearing the news of her pregnancy. Would he have been in here with her, holding her as she gave birth to their son?

Thankfully, that wasn't going to happen. She had taken special care to not reveal her pregnancy to anymore than necessary and the plans had already been made to give the child up for adoption. There was no way that she could keep him, he would tear Raye away from her and she needed him now more than ever. He had been a wonderful boyfriend throughout the entire pregnancy, dealing with her moods and cravings, and helping her to keep it hidden. He was even the one to discuss it privately with her boss, explaining things in a way that would keep her reputation intact and her job secured. She had been given menial tasks and no one else was the wiser about her condition. Raye was even prepared to sit through this with her, but she didn't want him to suffer as well. She didn't want him to see the birth of what should have been his child. Even she wasn't that cruel.

Biting back a groan of pain, she focused on the memory of a special phone call she made a few months back.

"_Misora, it's nice to hear from you."_

"_I apologize for taking your time L, but I needed to know something."_

"_If it's something that I can provide you with, I will." He couldn't be prepared for what she was going to ask._

"_It's about the Wara Ningyo murder case, and I…what was his name?"_

"'_His' name?"_

"_The murderer, Ryuzaki. What was his real name?" Even though she had searched for the name privately, it was something that she needed to be sure about. The name that had been revealed could have been an alias, and she couldn't have that. _

"…_It's Beyond Birthday, exactly what the public records state."_

_She nodded her head, feeling sick and almost faint. That name sent a chill down her spine, a sickeningly sweet name for so horrid a person. "Okay, thank you."_

"_May I inquire as to why you needed to assure that you knew his true name and not an alias?"_

_She didn't miss a beat, she couldn't or the detective would get suspicious. "I haven't felt a sense of closure yet, L, and I was hoping that knowing who he really was would help. Again, I'm sorry for taking up your time."_

"_It's no problem," he responded without a hint of suspicion. "Never feel the need to apologize to a friend, Misora."_

"_Thanks."_

She was fully dilated and ready to have the baby already, ready to get through this part of her life and lock it away forever. Once this was over, she swore to herself that she would be better to Raye and that she would do whatever he wanted of her. Gone would be the days of her rebellion and her ungratefulness. She wouldn't fight with him or deny him anything. He would be her life. It was the least she could do for messing around with his so crassly.

The feelings had grown to such an intensity that she wasn't sure if it was pain, agony, happiness, eagerness, or _hate_. She was pushing down, trying to force him out, wanting him to just go away and leave her alone. She wanted him to stop haunting her dreams, to stop assaulting her memories, to stop making her feel the way she did. Naomi might not have been screaming out loud, but in her mind she was. She was crying and screaming, and begging for it to stop, all of it. She didn't want this boy, she didn't want to give up her old life, and she didn't want what her future offered. But she didn't have a choice.

"Okay, one more push," Jessica urged.

Freedom.

The moment flashed by, a sense of euphoria. There was no voice in her head, no memories, no guilt, no pain. Happiness, damn happiness. And then the wet warm baby was being pressed against her swollen breasts. She tried to fight it off, not wanting to even risk a chance of bonding with the child, but the midwife insisted. "I can't," Naomi tried, pushing back the unhappy child.

"It's important that you breastfeed him," the older woman stated. "It will lessen the postpartum depression and your body will release some very important chemicals to help release the placenta."

Reluctantly, she took the babe into her arms, grimacing as he squirmed around in confusion. Grabbing a nearby towel, she covered him and tried her best to ignore as he began to suckle.

On a sweltering hot evening, the young boy entered the world without so much as a cry. It was June 6, 2003.

~_~_~_~_~_

The revelation came to L as he was sharing a piece of cake with Mello. Munching on a crisp strawberry, he finally realized why Mello had begun acting differently towards him. It was all because of Matt. How foolish, he should have realized it before. The new thoughts began racing though his mind, playing out behind his eyes as he stared at the boy. Mello had obviously had a huge crush on his childhood friend, and on his birthday he had revealed his feelings. Obviously, Matt had rejected him, resulting in a broken hearted Mello. This led to Mello questioning his feelings, and forcing himself to give the brunette space. However, Mello was not the type of person that could survive without physical contact and affection, and this led to him turning his attention to the only other person that he felt close to.

Onyx eyes stared at the blond as he delicately worked the chocolate cake off of the fork, his tongue even trying to get between the prongs. Was the boy intentionally trying to entice him or was it all subconscious? What the hell had this boy been watching? There was no way that anyone could naturally eat food like that or kiss the way that he did.

"Is there something on my face?" he asked, oblivious to L's thoughts. He had finally managed to get most of the chocolate frosting off of the eating utensil.

"I believe that there's a nose perched in the center of your face."

A hand came up to touch the perfectly shaped protrudence of cartilage and flesh while the teen smiled. "Well, duh."

"If you knew that, then you shouldn't have asked such a duh-worthy question."

Mello stuck out his tongue before turning his attention back to the chocolate mousse and chocolate dipped strawberry cake.

How disturbing. L could barely comprehend the fact that he had become the attention of this boy's affection and only as a result of the crush held towards another boy that had been rejected so clearly. He never could have imagined that he would be liked in such a way under normal circumstances and abnormal circumstances had never even occurred to him. This child was also ten years his junior and it was kind of creepy. Well, creepy on his part of being the old man.

"Goodness, am I twenty-three already?" he mumbled before taking another bite of his strawberry.

"Wow, you're ten years older than me," Mello replied, his eyes wide. He smiled and pressed a chocolate covered kiss to L's cheek. "I don't mind."

Failed. Well, that tactic clearly didn't work. "Yes, that makes me a fully legal adult and you a dependent minor."

"Yup. Pretty cool, right? You're like my guardian."

"Actually, no. That would be Roger, and then maybe Watari."

Mello shrugged. "Okay."

The boy still didn't seem particularly bothered. "Mello, do you know what the definition of statutory rape is?"

Chuckling, the blond looked up and nodded. "But we're not having sex are we?"

L blushed. Didn't that boy have any shame? Saying such a thing! "No, we are absolutely not going to engage in any kind of sexual intercourse, deviant or not."

"Well, isn't all homosexual intercourse considered deviant?"

"Mello! Have you been doing _research_?"

He shrugged, without an ounce of guilt. "Yeah. I figured if everyone was acting like it was a big deal, I should at least know the basics."

Was this boy really thirteen years old? "You're growing up fast," he replied weakly.

"It's not that big of a deal," Mello sighed. "Those cases that we have to go through are a lot worse than looking up gay sex."

Another bite of strawberry made the older man feel a little better. Mello was right. He was mature enough to look up anything that he wanted should he feel the curiosity. There was no need to get freaked out or to look down on him. He was just doing what Wammy's House taught him to do: sate his curiosity by whatever means.

"You're right, Mello. I apologize."

Those sly eyes glanced up with a calculated look. "Give me a kiss if you're really sorry."

"Hmm, how about not."

"Awwww, come on! You only let me give you a kiss if you're in a bad mood or passed out."

"You kiss me in my sleep?!"

That infectious laughter filled the room as Mello tackled the older man into a hug and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before jumping up and running to the next room over. "How can you call that sleep?" he called over his shoulder before disappearing around the door frame.

"I feel violated," L grumbled before picking himself off the ground. He would definitely have to be more on guard in the future. Still, he couldn't help but smile at the boy's antics. At least he was never bored around Mello. Before he had a chance to give chase to the little hellion, a note popped up on his computer, the computerized sound of a trumpet heralding its arrival.

Chewing on his thumb, he sighed as he read the information. So it was true.

~_~_~_~_~_

It had been a mistake, and she knew it. Still, that woman had forced her to take the child in her arms, had forced her to feed him. It was agony. Raye was filling out the papers for her as she clutched the boy to her chest. This wasn't supposed to be so difficult! Just fill out some papers, hand him away, and get over it. Yes, she expected to grieve a little, but her mind was strong and she would be able to force herself to give him up. She fully intended on closing off her feelings towards the child so that giving him away wouldn't be so bad.

Looking down at the child, she wished more than ever that she had never slept with Ryuzaki. Fine black fuzz covered the boy's head and his pale skin showed the delicate veins stretched inside his body. Tiny hands were clenching his blanket and a thumb was already buried in his perfectly shaped mouth. His features were delicate like hers, almost feminine, and yet when those eyes opened she knew. She could feel that same power, that same sense of soul reading. He was his father's son.

She had been thankful that newborns sleep most of the time because she wasn't sure how long she could stand those eyes looking at her. If she could barely stand it for a few minutes, how could she even consider keeping the boy? He would drive her to insanity, and yet she found herself, holding him more closely. Her arms refused to release him to the hands of the woman who was going to take him to the orphanage.

"Naomi?"

Blinking, she glanced up and saw that it was Raye. "Yes?"

"His name," he replied tiredly. "Did you decide on his name?"

"Oh, yes." She paused, looking back down at the little gem in her arms. She had thought long and hard about his name, and even as she tried to give him one that was simple and common, one look at him and she knew what it would be. The child of Beyond Birthday simply could not have an average name, he defied it. He refused to be called anything short of extraordinary.

"Well, what is it?" he asked a little irritably.

"Sorry. His name is Loveless; Loveless Avarice Beyond Birthday."

Raye just shook his head, but he remained silent. This was her child and he had no right to interfere. It bothered him that she was honestly giving the child his biological father's last name, but he supposed it was fitting. Other than this boy, that man would never have a chance at keeping the family name alive, so it was alright. It still hurt.

Once he finished with the paper work, the kind lady placed it all in a folder. "All right, thank you for doing this the right way. So many parents just leave their children at doorsteps or in dumpsters instead of taking some time to give them a chance at a good life. He's young and quite beautiful, so there's no doubt that he'll be adopted soon."

Naomi didn't look comforted by that, so Raye sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. "It's okay, he'll be taken care of."

"I know." Even though she said the words, she didn't seem to have any intention of giving her son to the woman. The lady stood there awkwardly for a moment and Raye felt himself get anxious. They already took care of the paperwork, she couldn't back down now. "Please Naomi," he begged.

"Yes I…know." She looked at him and saw the desperation there. He would leave her if she decided to keep the child. It came to that decision again. Would she pick what was good for her or what was bad. Looking back down at the sleeping child she felt sick again. The last time she chose what was bad for her it resulted in her misery and a fresh new mistake. There was no way that she could do that again. Her son had to go.

She didn't realize it until the woman was gone with her child, but she was crying. Naomi wasn't just crying; she was on the verge of being hysterical. Raye tried to comfort her, but it didn't help the pain at all. Nothing in the world could comfort her because she had just abandoned her only son, the only thing that tied her down to _him_.

~_~_~_~_~_

L was going through hundreds of different channels, looking for interesting cases. The televisions were automatically set to flip through the channels, leaving his hands free to feed his mouth, or in this case, satisfy Mello. They had come to an accord; Mello would no longer rape his mouth on the rare occasions that he slept, and he would hold the boy's hand as recompense. It was ludicrous that he had to pay the boy to not kiss him, but anyone who knew Mello knew how that worked.

The boy had strange powers of manipulation, and as L sat there watching the news flash by he wondered if he would ever figure out how exactly Mello did it. Maybe it had to do with his pheromones or other body chemicals. After all, humans were still animals and they succumbed to the baser instincts of smell. That's why the market for those pheromone perfumes was in such high demand. However, those stupid people didn't realize that such man-made chemicals could never be as potent as the natural ones and that they were just wasting their time unless they happened to come across a highly sensitive nose. Glancing suspiciously at the blond, he wondered if perhaps that was why Mello needed to touch so much. He was like a cat, rubbing his scent all over people and therefore forcing them to do his will.

"What?" Mello yawned, only adding to the image of a fluffy blond kitty.

The screen flashed with an image of a man in Japan who had died of a heart attack in the middle of the daycare full of children and staff that he had taken hostage. Otoharada Kurou was his name.

"It's nothing," L replied, not intending to let on his suspicions.

"Then why are you looking at me?"

L turned his attention back to the screens and remained silent for a moment. "You know that I can't replace Matt, right?"

Mello jerked in surprise and pulled his warm hand away. "Why would I want you to replace Matt?" His voice didn't betray his feelings, but his body language did. He had pulled up his jean clad legs and glanced away.

"Because he obviously didn't share your feelings."

Turquoise eyes seemed to dim at the words as he remembered the situation that had forced a giant chasm between them. They had remained friends and in the eyes of most others they were the same duo of trouble makers, but L knew and Near knew.

"We're just growing up," he tried to justify. Another few hundred murders flickered on the screens. "Nothing really happened between us."

L knew that he had to push a little more. "So on your birthday, your claim that he hated you was completely unfounded and another of your attempts at calling attention to yourself?"

There it was, that nasty look he had been worried about. Anger flashed, but it was more than that. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried to read further down, to see what exactly the teen kept buried down most of the time. But Mello wouldn't have any of that, and looked away. He didn't even bother to grace his superior with an answer. Just like a spoiled little brat.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Is this real?" The young man stood at his desk, looking down at the simple black notebook. "Killing criminals and meeting Shinigami." A smile of true amusement curled on his lips. Tonight he would probably be huddled under his blankets, fighting off the horrible nightmares, but at this moment he stood there, confident and eager. It was finally his chance to _do _something about the horrors of the world. He could make a change for the better, and he would.

Who else would ever have a chance to do such a thing? Who else would have the guts to make a stand for justice? No one.

He was Light Yagami, and he was going to become the god of a new world, the shining ray of justice. On that early December day, Light couldn't think of a better way to end the year.

* * *

**Ah, a short, sucky chapter. My apologies! Hopefully the next one won't be so difficult to write. :)**

**Thanks for all those who reviewed/alerted/favorited this story! Your support is invaluable.  
**


	32. Beyond Birthday

**I apologize! You readers were kind enough to point out that I had failed to put Matt in the last chapter and I must explain. He was being a little…difficult. XD He had an entire scene with Near in the last chapter, but it was so pathetic that I just threw it out and put up the chapter like that. That's why it was so short. So, I apologize and will now introduce the new chapter with Matt. **

**

* * *

**The beginning of the end.

Things were most definitely not working out the way that he had intended. Matt sipped his soda unhappily, watching Mello eat a fat bar of chocolate as he read an even fatter book. The blond glanced up for a moment and offered a protected grin before turning his attention back to the book. Their relationship had definitely gotten awkward since that day, and it hurt.

Stupid, it was so stupid. If only he didn't overreact then things would have been okay between them. He could have calmly explained why Mello couldn't suck him off like that, and how two boys couldn't like each other, but he didn't. He yelled at Mello and he told him off. Ever since that, Mello had been contained and walked around him as if he was afraid of breaking what was left of their friendship. It was heartbreaking. But more than that, it was painful. Mello didn't take shit from anyone and if you made him angry he would dump you. Not Matt, though. Surely he had made Mello furious, but Mello hadn't left him. He had _changed_ to keep their friendship alive. He would joke around awkwardly, lightly punch Matt in the arm, spend countless nights in the library studying just to give Matt space. Who else did he go so far for?

Even worse, nothing Mello was doing made him feel any better. Those emotions that he felt as Mello did something so intimate to him still made his stomach churn in pleasure and he couldn't even pretend to think about anyone else as he touched himself. It was all Mello, always Mello.

"A bit late now," he mumbled to himself. Mello didn't even look up; he just loudly bit off another piece of chocolate.

Why was it always like this for him? He had to go and mess things up and then feel remorse about it later. That's what happened with Kennedy too. He didn't take care of her like he should have and then he went and had a mini breakdown because he felt guilty later. Was he going to cry and breakdown again because he was realizing that he couldn't escape his feelings for the blond?

The ice in his cup shifted, catching his attention for a moment. Near had posed a question to him a while back. He had asked if Wammy's House had anything against the kids going out with each other, especially if they were the same gender. Matt had answered a stuttered "no" and at the time he wondered if Near had been trying to hit on him. Looking back, he realized how stupid that had been; he should have known it was Mello, that Near had always wanted Mello. Now, _there_ was a kid who wasn't afraid of his feelings, or of what others felt about it. He only asked about the others because he wanted to know if he had to go about his seduction privately or if he could take his courting publicly. At least, that's how he used to be.

Matt smiled to himself as he wondered why he thought of such a delicate word like courting. Was it because Mello wasn't an average person who could just be dated or approached? If you wanted a relationship with him, you _had _to court him if you wanted to stand a chance. Poor Near; he killed his chances before he even got to try. Blue protected eyes roamed over the many faces until they fell on the pale boy. His leg had never fully recovered and he kept it down awkwardly as his other knee was pressed to his chest. Those grey eyes stared at the food in front of him, as if they were trying to mentally dissect the meal. Poor Near.

"Stupid Matt," he whispered to himself, looking back at his drink. At least Near had guts and knew what he wanted. The younger boy had never been indecisive, and he had been prepared to get what he wanted. Here Matt was, with the object of everyone's adoration, and he pushed the blond away.

The migraines were building up again; he was thinking too much, stressing out. Mello had promised to take care of him and lead him along, but what could he do now that he pushed back the only one who gave his life any purpose anymore?

A flick to his forehead made the brunette jump up in surprise. Mello stared up at him through the lovely curtain of blond bangs. "You're thinking too hard," he stated. "I can practically see the migraines building up."

How did he manage to do that, even now, even with the barrier between them? How did he always know when to stop Matt from going down the self-destructive path he always gravitated towards? "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Mattie," Mello shrugged. "I can just always tell 'cause you aren't zoning out like usual."

"I think you're psychic," Matt replied bluntly.

A beautiful smile curled on the older boy's lips. "That would be nice. Then I could-" Mello caught himself and smiled apologetically at his friend. "I'm going to study in the library, okay?"

He didn't even wait for a response before walking out of the dinning room and heading towards the stairs. The library wasn't anywhere near the stairs.

~_~_~_~_~_

On December 5th, L challenged this new criminal called "Kira" on live television. On December 6th, all of the Wammy's kids were sitting quietly in the playroom, watching the reports of the event. Most of them were still in their pajamas, but there was no sleepiness left in their eyes. A man had been murdered in front of millions of viewers and the killer hadn't been anywhere near the man. This was no ordinary case, and they all knew that. L knew that, and he still took the case.

Near squeezed his new robot toy tightly and turned his attention to Mello. The blond had his arms crossed over his chest and was standing closest to the door. His wide eyes were soaking in everything that the man on the television screen was offering, darting around painfully fast as if he was afraid to miss something. Those thin arms came out from the oversized t-shirt that he used as pajamas, and a pair of shorts were the only things covering his trembling thighs. Bare feet shifted uncomfortably on the carpet as if he was itching to run off. He was agitated, that was easy to see. What might not have been as easy to see was the fact that he was far more agitated than any of the other orphans. Matt was sleeping on the couch and didn't even consist of part of the equation. All the _other _orphans looked at each other in bewilderment and whispered about how L would solve this case, but none of them seemed too concerned for the detective's personal well-being. Even after their communication with him earlier in the year, most of them still believed that L was something super human, unbeatable. Not a fragile human being that could die at any moment.

But Mello cared. This situation was really bothering the blond, and that annoyed Near. What was so special about L that caused Mello to become obsessed with him? Why did he fight so hard for the number one spot when he could just as easily accept his position and fight to be the best that he could be instead of chasing after a number? What was it about L's position that Mello wanted so badly? He tried to figure out the only puzzle that had failed to submit to his intelligence. Mello continued to defy logic; even the fact that he was wearing shorts in December, when his legs were clearly covered in goosebumps was an anomaly, a question that he could not accurately answer.

A completely plausible explanation was that Mello became obsessed with L because that's what Wammy's House raised him to be. An L-complex was not abnormal in the orphanage, and there were many children who would openly announce their infatuation with him. But Mello was not like all the other children, thus the explanation was reduced to nil. Regular things didn't matter to Mello and he never conformed. As a matter of fact, it would make more sense if he detested the detective for all the attention he received, because that would mean less attention on Mello and Mello needed attention. But no, he didn't detest the man. He wasn't even mildly annoyed with him.

Then again, he didn't act like the other children in their L worshiping. Everyone knew of his intentions to become the next L, but other than that, he kept his thoughts about the detective a mystery to everyone. He didn't oooh and ahhh with the other boys and girls and he never strategized with them on how to best get to that coveted position. Even that was another thing to ponder over and be confused by. For all the attention and physical contact that he needed, Mello never teamed up with anyone in order to reach the number one position. He never went to group study sessions and he never asked anyone for help. Matt may have been Mello's best friend, but even he wasn't ever approached for help or partnership.

Mello's blue-green eyes tore from the screen when a commercial came up and they met with the slate grey ones. Neither of them spoke, they just stared, sizing each other up. Near was a step ahead, and fully intending on keeping it that way. If there was only one thing that he understood about Mello, it was that as long as he stood in the way of Mello's place as L's successor, the blond would think about him. By default, he would be added to the list of the boy's obsessions. He allowed himself a rare smile, one that he only shared with Mello (and maybe Matt). Mello may not love him back the way he was loved, but that didn't mean that Near was just going to give up. He would never give up. As a matter of fact, he would make his own rules and fight to get Mello back, even if it took underhanded means. Even if it hurt them both, he would win.

The blond snarled and turned on his heel, leaving the rest of the children.

~_~_~_~_~_

It was hard for her, but Naomi didn't give up. She was going to make their relationship work even if it killed her. Ever since she had accepted his proposal, she had made every effort to make Raye and their marriage the center of her life. With all the planning that had to be done and the changes that had to be made, it shouldn't have been difficult to forget _them_.

But it was. Any time she had time to think at all, her thoughts would be full of her son and his father. Was her baby sick? Was he smart? Did he cry a lot? Was he in a safe loving family? And Beyond, how was he doing? Did he have scars from the terrible burns? What would he say if she suddenly appeared and claimed that their one-night stand resulted in a son? She really wanted to believe that he would get angry with her or reject the child, but what if he cried in joy and begged to see his son? It was disturbing that she couldn't even decide which reaction would make her feel worse.

Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she looked around at the simple hotel room. Ever since she gave up her job, there seemed to be more and more time to do nothing but think. Raye would be working and she would be the dutiful housewife. She needed to keep their home presentable, bear his children, raise them, and be attentive to her family's needs and desires.

Just thinking about her future and the fact that she was expected to have more children made her feel ill. How could she be expected to have more children without seeing the face of the child she gave away? It was looking more and more like the rest of her life would be spent paying a penance for her reckless life. She would forever be paying for the sin of falling in love with a mass murderer and for cheating on her loving boyfriend whom she knew had the intention of marrying her.

Before she had a chance to wallow in pity at the loss of her former life, the lock on the door beeped before clicking open, and Raye walked in looking tired. It was time to put up her façade and attend to her soon-to-be-husband. After this assignment in Japan, they would start a new life together.

And she hated that thought.

~_~_~_~_~_

Kira was mocking him, trying to show that even the great L couldn't pull the wool over his eyes or stop him from killing. This time, though, things had been taken a step further. Biting his thumb, L continued to stare at his hand-crafted sugar cube fort. Each cube seemed to wobble precariously as he stared at them, almost as if he could use his brain power to knock it down. For the first time, Kira had murdered non-criminals. He knew that such a thing was inevitable, but what he didn't expect was for such an important step to be taken so quickly. It was true that absolute power corrupts absolutely, but the reality was that corruption always came gradually. For one who seemed to be trying to redefine justice and bring about a new world, it was quite a leap to killing innocent people. At least, it would be a giant leap for a regular person.

From what he knew of Kira, he was sure that the murderer was far from regular. The twisted person was on a level far above others, a level that was eerily close to his own. His gaze shifted towards the door; very soon, the Japanese task force, or what was left of them, would be walking in to come face to face with him. They would have lots of questions and would be difficult to work with, but this would be his big step. If he was going to beat this criminal, then he was going to have to make some adjustments, liked or not. Personally, he wasn't fond of the idea of working with ignoramuses, but that would be the price he would have to pay in order to continue to use their resources. He would have to actually reveal himself just to get their damned cooperation.

Still, this case wouldn't be so fun if he didn't involve himself in a few risks as well. By killing FBI agents, Kira was making himself the targets of not only the Japanese taskforce but the Americans as well. Unfortunately, by doing that, he had also put L into a bad situation by revealing that he had been spying on people within the taskforce. Oh well, it was nothing too terribly crippling in the long run. Perhaps it would be more accurate to think of events in a new way. Things were just beginning to get interesting.

The sound of the door opening and feet shuffling along the carpet signaled the arrival of his guests.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Ugh," Light groaned as he stretched his arms above his head and allowed a few of his vertebrae to pop into a more comfortable place.

"Light-kun!" some girl squealed as she approached him, "Aren't you excited?"

"Hmm, if you're referring to the fact that this is the last placement test, then yes."

She giggled and cocked her position into something a bit more cutesy. Considering that she had her hair up in pigtails with pink fuzzy hair bands and a load of Hello Kitty clips, and the rest of her attire matched with the overly done girly approach of her hair, he was guessing that she believed that being cute was going to get her more guys. Obviously, the school girl approach wasn't enough anymore. "But you're ranked as the number one! So you must love taking tests!"

Yet another generalization that didn't fit him. Still, he couldn't just call this girl a "slut" or "idiot" in front of others. No, there were more people listening in and he had a reputation to keep.

"But, Midori-kun, every test is a chance for someone else to steal my spot at the number one rank. I would be a fool to enjoy the stress of such a position."

Her eyes widened. "But no one could ever be smarter than you! It's impossible!"

Insert a posture of humility. "Well, I'm honored that you would think so, but-"

"No way!" another student jumped in. "There's no way that anyone will be smarter than you."

"Yeah!" a chorus of other students chimed. The rest of their cheers and words of encouragement washed over him making him want to chuckle. It was so easy to manipulate his peers.

Putting on a confident and warm smile he looked around at their smiling faces and he nodded. "I'll do my best, for all of you. And don't worry, I won't let anyone beat me."

By the time they all took their seats, he was basking in the praise and he was completely relaxed. This test was going to be a breeze. Still, he needed to give the appearance of a student hard at work. No one could suspect that he had the spare time needed to murder hundreds of criminals all around the world. Maybe he was in the thousands now. Thousands of wrong doers that would no longer be taking money and space in their respective societies, thousands of evil people who would no longer use their miserable lives to harm others.

The sound of the door at the back opening preceded a hush of frantic whispers, but Light ignored it all. He was never the type to divert his attention from what he was doing just to see who walked into a room, and he was not prone to listening in on gossip. Besides, most of the talks were about him and it would be rude to listen in. The girls he would occasionally take out on a date would always fill him in, anyway.

A loud booming voice from the front announced the common sense rules for taking this test. No cheating, there were time limits, use only pencils, etcetera. Nothing that he didn't already know. Once the announcements were made, the students were wished the best of luck and the proctors passed out the booklets. Then, the clocks were started and everyone began scribbling furiously. At least, everyone but him. Light just focused on filling in the circles perfectly. He absolutely hated it when any of the pencil lead (which was really granite, not lead) made a stray mark outside of the predetermined circle, so he always took his time. As predicted, the questions were ridiculously easy. He didn't even need to have gone to cram school to pass.

However, something not planned happened. At first, it was barely perceptible, but as the minutes dragged on, the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end. The uncomfortable feeling of being stared at grew more pronounced, and by the end of the second section of testing, it was nearly unbearable. Having been the center of adoration for many years, Light was used to being looked at and talked about, but this was different. Someone wasn't just looking at him or adoring him. Someone was _staring_ at him, analyzing his perfectly pressed sweater and his immaculately done hair. More than that, this unknown person was trying to see _through _him.

"_This is ridiculous,"_ Light thought to himself. Under normal circumstances, he would have easily ignored the feeling of being watched, but the Raye Penber incident had left him a bit more paranoid. L had been quick to name him among the suspects and it had unnerved him. Was he being followed again? What proof could they have that he was Kira? _"Okay, think. It wouldn't make sense that L was able to pin-point me. I haven't done anything incriminating that he's seen. I was careful not to be picked up by any of the cameras at the subway station. Anyways, random strangers just can't drop in and watch the students taking tests." _A quick glance around was enough to convince him that none of the proctors were the ones staring at him. They were all doing their jobs.

The sound of shoes clicking made Light look up to see if anything was wrong. Mr. Yamamoto, the head proctor was staring at one of the students a few rows back. He looked surprised and truthfully a little disturbed. "You there…number 162," he said, rushing back to those seats that were beyond Light's peripheral vision, "sit properly." Taking the opportune moment to look back, Light searched for the eyes that had been unnerving him for the past hour and a half. It didn't take him half a second to find them.

Black eyes stood out against shockingly pale skin with prominent bags of flesh bruised and swollen underneath them. Long bony toes clenched the wooden table as the student remained in his awkward sitting fetal position while slender fingers held a pencil in the most awkward way possible. The young man didn't seem to realize that there was a proctor next to him and unabashedly continued his staring. However, those dead eyes seemed to have found something far more interesting to stare at then the back of Light's perfect head. A quiver of some strange feeling ran down his chest and pooled in his stomach as he realized that the strange guy was staring directly into his eyes, openly trying to read him.

"Sir?" the proctor tried again.

"I don't recall any regulation against different sitting positions," the man whispered, his voice just as strange as his looks. Light couldn't decide if it was high or deep, girly or manly; it was…different.

"B-but-"

"I believe that it's completely accurate to state that your bothering me is much more of a distraction to the testing students than my sitting position will ever be."

The proctoring man stood stiffly and although still looking completely baffled, he stepped away and left the student alone. Light turned away, not at all comfortable with the way that the strange student was looking at him.

~_~_~_~_~_

It was a strange and wondrous thing. People all around him were dying, their lives cut off before they were supposed to. Screams would sometimes pierce through the night, before choking and collapsing. The guards would rush in, yelling into their walkie-talkies. Another one bites the dust. But the funny thing was that it was not their time to die. Just like those few he witnessed out in the world years ago, their death days were far into the future, and yet they passed away. It was always death by a heart attack too.

"Ring around the rosie," he chuckled with a hand over his eyes. Was it possible that his evil eyes were wrong? "Pockets full of posies…"

"Shut up, man!" a neighbor screamed fearfully. All of them were scared of being the next one to be stuffed into a body bag. At least all of them but him. Death would be welcomed now.

"Ashes, ashes!" he was screaming now. The sound of crying men was the background to his grisly song. "We _all _fall down!!! Kya ha ha ha!" They were all going to die; the only question was whether it would be tonight or later.

'_You're always so full of the need to hurt people.'_

"N-no, just you, love."

'_I still love you; even if you _are _an egotistical sadistic bastard.'_

"Doesn't eternity with me sound f-fun?" More clanging and crying echoed down the forlorn hall, but those noises were fading away as he focused on his lover, the only one who would cry for him as well as because of him.

'_Lovely. Always what I've hoped for.'_

An unfamiliar feeling stung in his chest, but it was hardly felt. "You won't leave me again, will you?" he asked softly. His voice had a tone so gentle, so quiet that one could almost imagine that he was scared.

'_Never. I'll stay with you.'_

The burning was more pronounced now, a numbing fire running down his left arm. It was harder to breath now. "It's my turn now, isn't it?"

'_I'm right here.'_

"Kiss me," Beyond demanded. The hand had slipped away from his cursed eyes and a few tears quivered as he saw the familiar honey colored eyes, and those soft pink lips.

There was a moment of pause (just like Always) and then those lips descended to comfort him. More heat raced through his body, but Beyond couldn't distinguish the pain from the pleasure. It didn't matter at this point if he was hallucinating or dreaming or even dying. All that mattered was that he could once more taste those lips, bruise that mouth. He didn't feel the weakness that plagued him since the fire; there wasn't the taunting of the guards or the screams of the other murderers. Just a delicate panting and a tremor of whimpers. Soothing hands ran over his body, making him shudder in delight. There was feeling again in his deadened nerves, those slender fingers bringing him to life.

'_Come with me?' _he asked so tenderly, pressing another precious kiss to the blood-stained lips.

A memory of a fiery woman, challenging him and driving him wild wormed its way to the front. Was he really going to spend his eternity with the person who had always submitted easily to him?

Those hands never stopped their comforting caresses, but a chuckle interrupted his thoughts. _'I should be jealous.'_

"Are you?" It was no longer difficult to form words.

'_No. I think that you should have a moment to remember everyone who's meant something to you before you forget.'_

"Remember?"

* * *

_**The older man with graying hair held his hand out in invitation. They would be going to Wammy's House if he took that wrinkled hand. Why shouldn't he?**_

"_**Welcome to a brand new life, B."**_

_**A dark haired child who never let him see his face. Bony fingers forever grasping for something sweet. Hands that wouldn't palm a needy cock.**_

_**Warmth. Golden hair and diamond smile, all wrapped up in the body of a child. A laughter that could warm the heart of the dead. **_

"_**Bye bye, bunny."**_

_**A girl in the shadows, trembling in fear and pleasure. A face that would only be seen before death embraced her. **_

_**Crying child who would die so soon. She who wasn't afraid and who begged for any kind of friends. The elementary school uniform that always hung so loosely on her and blew haphazardly in the breeze.**_

_**Fire, sweltering fire in the form of a human. Sharp attitude and sharper boots. **_

_**

* * *

**_"I…" There was no more breath in him.

'_Now, remember me?'_

For that endless moment all he could see and feel was him. Almost Always smiled and held him close. That was all.

And then there was darkness.

On January 21, 2004, Beyond Birthday died of a heart attack in a maximum security prison.

~_~_~_~_~_

There was no sound. L stared at the wall, wishing that the message that he had just received wasn't burned into his retinas. Beyond Birthday was dead. Gone. Cause of death was nothing other than a heart attack. Kira had gotten to him.

It was only natural, and he should have expected it. The LABB murder case had been highly publicized and although there weren't that many victims, B had quite a horrible reputation. There were even rumors that he cannibalized his victims. It also helped that he was a documented genius. The murderer who crossed the fickle line between genius and insanity.

"He never knew…"

It was really a shame. L would never know what happened to him all those years between his life in Wammy's and his career as a murderer. He had been pondering another visit to the broken man, but that was all gone now. There would never be another chance to see that face or hear those wonderfully juvenile taunts.

Tears couldn't be found running down his face, but perhaps that was because he had never really learned how to cry. For that matter, he had never really learned how to grieve the death of anyone. True, he had never really been close to anyone other than Watari, but Beyond was special. He had been the first of the children to catch his interest in such a way. As a child he had always stood a head above the rest. He may not have been the most intelligent, but he had certainly been the most interesting. And he even had the balls to run away from Wammy's and challenge L to a game. No one else had ever done such a thing, and he was sure that such a thing never even crossed the minds of the others. There was no one who could replace B.

But…he did manage to leave a successor. Mello was vastly different from the jam-obsessed Letter, but they were also quite similar. Both refused to conform to the others and they had both managed to worm their way into his life even when he tried to push them out. Would Mello have turned out any different if he had never met Beyond? Would he be stronger? Weaker? Crueler? Nicer? No one could say. It was all pointless wondering anyway. What had been done was done and that was that. Things wouldn't change.

Rubbing his temples, L wondered what he should do about Mello. It was obvious that he regarded B very highly and he would probably be distressed to hear that B was dead. However, he hadn't even told the boy that B was in prison or that he had been found. But did any of this even matter? There was a difficult case that would need his full attention and it would require all of his skills. He didn't have time to be wasting, stressing over such silly decisions.

"Maybe I'll tell him later," he mumbled to himself. There were more important things that needed his attention.

Hopping off his chair, he could feel the phantom pain from the needles that had marked his back with such a reminder of death and of a certain Letter.

"Naomi's disappeared, Beyond's gone, and then…there was one…"

* * *

**Author's Notes: Listen to "To Where You Are" by Josh Groban for Beyond Birthday's death scene. T^T It seems to fit perfectly for his current relationship to Almost Always. A little fluffy yes, but it worked for the scene. **

**Go to my profile to see more kick ass videos that are tributes to B.**


	33. Emotional Massacre

The game had started, a completely new phase. No more hiding behind screen-names and childishly throwing out taunts. It was much more serious. He, the greatest detective in the world, the one who could mobilize entire countries if it was his desire, _the _L, had shown his face to his enemy.

"I am L."

There was a wobble in the Asian man's next step, and a flicker of emotion before it was quashed down. Light would not go down so easily. L watched, noticing how completely unfazed the teenager seemed. He was too calm, too calculating. Without missing a beat, the suspect turned to face L.

"If you're L, you have my full respect and admiration."

"Thanks. I told you who I was because I thought you might be able to help us solve the Kira case."

They took their seats, and Light remained perfectly still. With his hands on his lap and his eyes trained forward, he never deviated from what was expected of a perfect student and young man. Attentive and yet coolly bored, as if nothing that they could say was new to him or particularly important. Wasn't that the truth? Having score perfectly on the exam, what else did the university seek to teach him? Holding his knees close to his chest, L continued to watch the boy out of the corner of his eye. It was important that he was smooth, sneaky, and completely in control of himself and the situation. Light should never get an opportunity to step ahead of him.

But, being L, he couldn't help himself. He had to rub it in Kira's face that he was immune for the moment. "It was nice meeting you," he commented after the ceremony.

"Yes, nice meeting you too."

"I'll see you around on campus, then."

There was a slight hesitation and a barely perceptible wrinkle in the boy's brow. "Oh. Yeah, of course…bye."

This new stage of the game was definitely more dangerous, but it also offered a new arena in which to taunt his opponent. It added a more personal dimension to the investigation. Now that his face was shown to the suspect, it was entirely possible that his days were numbered.

~_~_~_~_~_

Sitting stiffly in his chair, L ran through the latest events in his head. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. Any time now Light would be joining the task force, and he would have to move more aggressively. Reaching for a cup of tea, the detective winced in pain. Playing such a hard set of tennis after years of inactivity wasn't the smartest thing for him to do. Sure, he had fooled around with capoeira some, but obviously not enough.

"Would you like a heating pad?" Watari asked good naturedly as he walked past.

L shook his head. "I'll be fine, Watari."

"You shouldn't have played so hard," the older man chided softly.

"Do you really expect me to just give up? Light-kun obviously hadn't played in a while either, so he's probably in just as much pain, if not more." It gave the detective a sadistic thrill to imagine the flawless and pristine Light Yagami curled up in bed, unable to move his sore limbs. "Please gather the information that my computer has just processed and printed. I need to see those."

As the caretaker moved to fulfill his wish, L allowed himself a moment to think. Based on what he had been able to see of Light and his reactions to the strange circumstances, he was still not completely sure that the boy was Kira. He seemed to be sincere in his concern for his father after the heart attack, and he was angry enough to physically threaten L for the accusation that Sayu was Kira. But still, everything seemed to point to the boy. It wasn't completely unreasonable that Light could have been acting.

Biting his thumb, L watched his caretaker maneuver around the carts of delicacies as he brought back the papers full of statistics and simulation results. Images of Light and scenes of their conversations played through his mind and he tore them apart, looking for anything that would help in this case. Light Yagami was no fool and he was just as persistent as he was intelligent. However, there were those brief moments, moments in which he could see through the mask. There was definitely something smoldering behind those eyes, something dangerous and animalistic that would be a surprise to everyone who knew the boy. Unfortunately, he could not make a judgment on the boy merely off of a few questionable glances and he couldn't condemn Light as Kira without any evidence no matter how much his reasoning led him back to the boy. It would be especially difficult to pin anything on Light considering how strongly his father opposed the notion that his precious son was Kira.

"He's a bit too close to the case," L mumbled as he brought a cup of black tea to his lips. "It might be a good idea to remove him from the case."

"That wouldn't be wise," Watari replied casually as he continued to clean up around the room. The Japanese task force would be coming soon and they would need some more space. "Especially considering how much help he was in getting the evidence on the second Kira."

"True. His crashing the bus into the studio was quite impressive."

"Besides, the task force is loyal to him, and if you try to push him out they might react badly to it. Keeping him on is probably the best course of action."

Setting down the china cup, L nodded. Things could possibly go much worse if he didn't keep Yagami on board. Besides, he understood that Mr. Yagami was only acting human; he was a proud father (and rightly so) and it was in his nature to be protective of his son, his only son. Light had done nothing in his life that would garner resentment or suspicion from his family. He had been perfect.

No one was perfect. _That _was exactly why L couldn't keep that nagging feeling under control. There was something there, something inside the stony teen that was begging to be discovered, but how could he do it? How could he peel aside the layers of protection and dig into the fleshy recesses of the teen's mind?

"…_let me tell you something. All humans yearn for sex, so never be afraid to use that to your advantage. Getting into bed with someone is one of the easiest ways to manipulate…"_

Well that was definitely an interesting thought. Chewing on his thumb again, L smiled as he recalled the look on his mother's face as she told him those words. She didn't seem the slightest bit disturbed by telling her son to sleep around with people if he could get something out of it. Of course, she had experience in such matters having prostituted herself to buy his diapers. Could he do such a thing? Smiling even wider, he realized that his first thought hadn't been whether he _should _sleep with a suspect but rather _could _he. It would be a completely new arena of manipulation, but this case had been pushing his limits the entire time. This was no different.

Leaning back on his heels, the detective stared at the pristine ceiling as he analyzed the possibilities. First, what were the chances that Light was gay or at least bi-sexual? Well, he certainly didn't dress like a straight guy. What kind of teenager would willingly iron out all of his clothes (including his socks, L was sure) every day? And what teenage boy would willingly wear a tie outside of a religious service or job interview? Either Light was extremely self-conscious and a strange breed of human who didn't mind looking pristine and perfect every moment, or he had homosexual tendencies. His clothes weren't the only thing, either. Light liked to flip his hair a lot and always seemed to pay particular care of how it was arranged. That was not a particularly masculine quality.

So, for the sake of argument, he assumed that Light had some interest in men. What would be the next step? Naturally, L wondered if he could possibly attract the young teenager. Even _if _Light had interest in men, what was to say that he had any of the qualities that would attract the boy? He was fully aware of his lanky limbs and generally unattractive demeanor. His hair was constantly a mess, his clothes were wrinkly 99.78% of the time, and he didn't even have semi-decent posture. In fact, he seemed to be the exact opposite of Light. Running through probabilities and scenarios in his head, L quickly reasoned that the chances of Light falling in love with someone like him were slim, but the chances of young Yagami becoming infatuated with him were considerably higher. After all, there was the ever popular saying that "opposites attract". Indeed, the chances of people who had opposite personalities staying in a long meaningful relationship was near zero, but the chances of them having a meaningful short term relationship was fairly high. The reason for this strange phenomenon was that a person would find someone opposite of them exciting and a breath of fresh air for a short period of time, but a relationship wouldn't be able to last long because once the novelty wore off, their differences would drive them apart.

"This idea is ridiculous," he mumbled as he looked down to his food cart and grabbed a chocolate covered banana, "but, there's a 93.7% chance that I could pull this off." After all, he wasn't looking for a long relationship with Light Yagami. All he needed to do was get the teen to become infatuated with him long enough for him to figure out if he was Kira or not. Of course, Light wouldn't be easy to seduce; he would be too cautious and attentive, so this new stage in his plans would be the most difficult of all.

He, the great detective L, would seduce the mass murderer Kira all without arousing the suspicions of those in the Japanese task force (which included said murderer's father). Indeed, this case was testing all kinds of limits.

~_~_~_~_~_

Studying was getting wearisome, so Mello dropped his head heavily on his open psychology book. Things had been getting harder and harder lately. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried, the feelings between him and Matt were getting worse. Some nights, he didn't even sleep in their room. It didn't help that L had been gone for a long time now.

"He's working hard on an important case," he mumbled to himself. Still, the logic behind the detective's absence didn't make it any easier to deal with.

Turning his face into the page, the blond took a deep breath of the crisp scent of new pages. It was already April and even though it was evening it would probably still be warm enough to relax outside for a bit. Anything would be better than having to stare at his work anymore. The sound of shuffling feet made him close his eyes. Whoever had walked up to him would surely move on if they saw that he was sleeping.

"Are you feeling ill?"

Of course, it _had _to be Near. "No. Go away." Opening his aquamarine eyes, he glanced at the younger boy.

"You don't look well."

"Why should you care, you little backstabber?"

Tilting his head, Near stepped closer. "I never did anything of the sort. You were, and have been, simply too irrational to hear my point of view. Besides, aren't you being a bit selfish by demanding that I place behind you even though I am smarter?"

Mello gritted his teeth, reminding himself that punching Near in the face wouldn't be a smart thing to do. L would be disappointed in his lack of control. "I'm not going to argue with you, Near. I'm tired, now go away."

But Near didn't go away. He just shuffled closer, even daring to reach out his hand to stroke Mello's shoulder. "I don't want to." Just like that, simply stated. "You've been selfish enough for a while. Let me be selfish." Not even giving the blond a moment to reject him, Near firmly grabbed his hand.

"I don't want-"

"Don't you remember how nice it was when we were younger?" Near mumbled, closing his eyes.

Mello grunted unhappily at being ignored. He wanted to pull away, but it had been so long since he had been able to touch someone so softly. Biting his lower lip, he allowed his eyes to close as well. How long ago had that been? Those comfortable winter nights under the tree, the comfortable touches, the…kisses.

Pulling the older boy to an upright sitting position, Near leaned forward and gently rested his forehead against Mello's. Being so close, he could bask in the warmth of the other and smile as he breathed in the wonderfully sweet breath. "I like you," he whispered between their soft breaths.

A painful feeling clenched in the blond's stomach. If he wasn't so bitter towards the younger boy, he knew that they would have been close. Closer than he was with Matt, maybe. Opening his eyes, he took in the other's delicate face. Strange how it was Near who had really taught him how to kiss and how they would sneak away to hold each other. Even Matt never knew. But, he didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about how he was being selfish in not sharing Matt with Near or sharing Near with Matt. He didn't want to think of how his anger always made him act rashly. All of his emotions had betrayed him. His anger pushed him away from Near, his love made Matt push him away. "I don't want to like you," he muttered angrily. Even now, those damned emotions were messing with him.

Tonight, away from all the others, Near wasn't going to let Mello get away so easily. Grabbing the older boy's face, he leaned forward and claimed those lips. It was a cold and calculated move, but the reasons behind it were anything but frigid. He was always watching Mello, and he had seen the distance between the blond and his partner-in-crime; adding to that his knowledge of how much Mello craved touch, it was a reasonable assumption that the said boy would be desperate for any kind of contact. Yes, it was manipulation, but Near didn't care. Those lips had been begging for him to take them, to be reacquainted after so long an absence.

Matt. That was his first thought as Near forced a kiss on him. The pain in his stomach became more pronounced as the kiss deepened between them. It should have been Matt who was kissing him now, Matt who was holding his face so tenderly. More than anything, that's what he wanted.

But, it wasn't going to happen.

~_~_~_~_~_

Matt could barely keep his attention on the television show flashing on the screen. Mello had left earlier claiming that he was going to study some more. Didn't he ever get tired of studying? Glancing at some of the other orphans, he found himself even more bored. They were all doing absolutely nothing. How could people stand doing nothing? But what exactly was he doing? Nothing. What a contradiction.

"I'm officially bored," he mumbled to no one in particular. He knew that it was bad if the thought of playing a new game didn't excite him at all. "Guess I'll find Mello and see if…" Well, he didn't really know what they would do, but Mello could figure it out. He always did.

Sliding to his feet, Matt took his dear sweet time walking to the library. What was the rush? It wasn't like Mello wasn't going to be there, blood-shot eyes and all. He even paused to look outside as some stragglers hung around the trees to watch the setting sun. One glance at his nicotine-stained gloves reminded him that he hadn't smoked in a while. Maybe Mello would go to the roof with him so that he could smoke in peace? Smiling, he continued towards the library.

Letting his mind wander, Matt allowed his feet to carry him to his destination. Twenty-seven steps forward, sidestep to avoid crashing into a little brat, thirty-four more steps forward, twelve diagonal, turn to the left, eighty-seven, no, eighty-six steps forward and then turn left towards the door. Pushing the door open he quietly padded into the room only to freeze at the sight that greeted him.

There, in the middle of the room for everyone who cared to see was Mello and Near swapping spit. Like, tonsil hockey making out. Gaping in shock and horror, Matt couldn't get his mind to work through the strange scene. Mello. Making-out. Near. Together. Hurt bubbled up in his chest as he watched them tongue fuck each other. Did Mello already find someone else to love? Well, it was probably a bit selfish to imagine that Mello would only love him, but to find someone so quickly was just plain rude! Okay, it had been quite a while, but still!

'_Am I stupid?! I was the one who rejected Mello, so he has every right to go to someone else…to go to his sworn enemy Near. I think I'm going to puke.'_

Blinking back unexpected tears, Matt turned on his heel and ran out of the room. Who cared if someone else walked in to see those two kissing? He didn't. All he cared about was the pain in his chest and the hot tears running down his face.

~_~_~_~_~_

Everything was being carefully set up. It was like playing a game of chess with his right hand and playing poker with his left hand all the while being blindfolded. Chasing Kira was all strategy, and taking risky moves, but the more challenging aspect was the gambling with his weaker hand. He had no knowledge of seduction, and trying to do something so complicated under the noses of several intelligent people was truly difficult.

Having done some research, L decided to approach his new task with the more traditional befriend-him-first tactic. That step seemed easy enough, even with someone as horrible as Light. The more he saw of the teen, the more he disliked him. "Perfect" he may have been in the eyes of others, but L didn't have a problem seeing flaws. The young Yagami was arrogant, haughty, prideful, and childish. Very much like the profile of Kira. Still, his seducing the boy was of utmost importance.

It was best to lay it on thick. "Yes…Light-kun isn't Kira. Or rather, I don't want Light-kun to be Kira. Because…Light-kun is my first-ever friend."

Staring at the monitor that they had been using merely minutes ago to observe the second Kira's message, L watched Light's reaction carefully. Caramel eyes widened in surprise and his mouth went slack for a second before melting into a warm smile. There seemed to be nothing evil or calculating.

"Yeah, you're a good friend to me too Ryuzaki."

"Thanks."

"I miss you at school," he added, his voice dripping sweetly like honey. "I'd like to play tennis with you again."

L looked over his shoulder, not missing the bewildered looks on the police officers' faces. It was a natural reaction; how could two people at such odds with each other claim to be good friends? Simple. It was all a game, something that he realized they were both playing. Light was smart, he wouldn't miss an opportunity to get into L's good graces. Even his word choice of "good friend" was neutral and yet still pleasant enough.

"Yes, same here." They were both playing carefully, this double game. "Kira and the second Kira…once we solve this case and rid the world of them, I'd enjoy that. I hope that day comes soon."

~_~_~_~_~_

Children were running around, screaming as they played together. Adults watched half-heartedly, more interested in their gossiping. All the windows were wide open, trying to beckon in any kind of breeze. Sun rays baked the earth, rippling the air with its heat. A girl giggled cutely as a couple walked into the room to find a child worth their money. Adopting parents were always seeking the cutest and friendliest of children, as if they were picking up a new pet and wanted something easy to take care of.

"Honey, look at him," the tall woman whispered, glancing at a young child playing alone with Barbie dolls.

"He's alone," her husband tried to reason, "and he's playing with girl toys."

"Come on, I want to get a better look at him." The woman pulled her taller husband along, heading straight for the small boy. Dark hair stood every which way and his ivory skin didn't even glisten with sweat. "Hi there, little guy," she tried, squatting down to his level. "How are you today?"

Dark eyes looked up slowly, latching onto the woman's face before drifting up a little higher. He remained silent and the man shook his head. "He doesn't seem all that friendly, Sheryl. Let's go look at the other kids."

"But he's adorable!"

Looking back at his doll, the boy held it out carefully. "Boom," he whispered, before dropping it to the floor. "Bye-bye."

This time, she allowed her husband to drag her away to some of the other children. There was something unsettling about what he said. Trying to shake off the chilling feeling, she smiled and talked to some of the other children. Glancing back, she shuddered as she saw those dark fascinated eyes and a wide empty grin.

It was June 6, 2004. Sheryl died when a pane of glass from the wall-sized window in the apartment she shared with her husband horrifically gave out as she leaned against it. Loveless Birthday spent his first birthday quietly playing alone, giggling about the strange thing he had just seen.

~_~_~_~_~_

To use a proper British turn of phrase, what the bloody hell was going on?! L clenched his knees tightly as he watched everything that they had been working with fly out the window. Light's entire personality had changed while in his confinement as had Misa Amane's. They were no longer the stoic and calm prisoners, but open and sincere. Of course, Misa had been different for a longer period of time, but it was still unnerving that the both of them had change and both while in confinement.

It was entirely possible that they stress of being confined in such an extreme manner had scrambled their brains, but something inside was screaming at the wrongness of the situation. Staring intently at the cameras, the detective was baffled. Somehow, Kira had managed to one up him, and he didn't have a clue what he was going to do. The change was so utterly different and complete that he couldn't help but notice it. He could even pin-point the exact second things changed. From the arrogant, selfish, and calculating Light Yagami he had been dealing with, this person blew past him like a breath of fresh air. There were no double meanings, lies, or insincerity. Even Matsuda and Aizawa had noticed the change and were perplexed.

Now, the news that Kira had started killing again was leaving him gritting his teeth. Soichiro, Matsuda, and Aizawa were all waiting on his response. Would he continue to claim Light as Kira when they had clearly seen that there was no way possible for him to have committed the murders? He knew better than that. Somehow, Light had managed to corner him.

"Umm…he's in the grey…"

"Did you hear that chief?!!" Matsuda cried happily.

"Yeah, he was definitely guilty just yesterday. Thank God…"

"He's probably one shade from being cleared!"

But he kept the pressure up on Light. He couldn't accept that he had been so completely wrong! It was impossible, utterly impossible. Chewing on his lip, L knew that he had to trash his original plans and work on a new set of them. However, he knew that there was something that he would have to do before he could continue in the case. The situation with B's death had been hanging over his head for long enough and he couldn't give his all to this case with the guilt of not telling Mello anything eating away at him.

"Aizawa."

"Yes?"

Hopping off his chair, he signaled for the man to follow him. Once they were a distance from Matsuda, he continued. "There is something very important that I must check out. I'll be gone for a few days, but I want you to keep it quiet. Since you are the most dependable at the moment, I'm entrusting this duty to you. Light Yagami is not to know, under _any _circumstances, that the killings have stopped. Also, Misa Amane and Light Yagami are not to be released. I'll be back quickly, so you won't have to handle things for too long."

The afroed Asian nodded. "Got it. Do you mind if I ask about where you're going?"

"All I can share is that it's of utmost importance to the Kira case." Which was true. If he couldn't focus on the case, then they would lose for sure.

"You have my word, Ryuzaki. I'll take care of things on this end; good luck."

L nodded before rushing off and pulling out his cell phone. "Watari, I need you to pick me up…"

~_~_~_~_~_

The small world of Mello had come crashing down in such a short span. How did he get from being overexcited to see L again to the horror of hearing words that he had never dared believe would fall on his ears?

"B is dead."

B was a murderer, B was in jail, B was dead. The chocolate that he had been eating was on the floor, forgotten, as he was pacing, tugging on his hair is grief and whimpering. How could B be dead?! What about all those times that they laughed and played? What about all those words of being something other than L? He had failed. If it hadn't come from the mouth of L, Mello would have never believed it.

"Now that he's dead, I can reveal his true name. B was actually Beyond Birthday."

That name, one presented to him during their goodbyes. It was the final blow to Mello; _his _B was gone. How could L be so emotionless? How could he just sit there and stare?! "How could you?!" Mello screeched, grabbing the nearest item and throwing it at the older man. "How could you put him in jail like that! Of course Kira would kill him!!!" The tears were racing down his face, each trying to outrun the other. "You bastard, you killed him! You killed B!"

Still, there was no emotion. Mello couldn't see anything in those dead eyes, in that hunched posture. Fury spilled out, blinding his reasoning. It hurt too much, he could handle it. "No!" he wailed grabbing anything that he could and throwing it at L, his idol, his friend. China shattered, sweets were smashed and thrown, pillows were turned to projectiles, and carts were overturned. When there was finally nothing else, Mello fell to the ground and held his sides as he sobbed. Beyond, his first true friend was gone. "B, come back!" he screamed at the ground even as his body shook from the weight of his grief.

* * *

**"**_**I've done enough damage," he whispered more to himself than to the other. "You have to understand, Mello, I can't do this anymore. I won't take this shit like some mindless drone. I have to fight back against the system. You'll see, I'll crush L; I will step all over him. Then you'll have to acknowledge that he isn't the best anymore."**_

**"**_**You cannot be the successor," B replied firmly. "You are soft and warm, you have feeling, you are alive! You can never let yourself be drawn into that harshness, you cannot become like everyone else!"**_

_**You may never understand, but that's ok. Just don't give in. Never give up."**_

_**

* * *

**_L was completely fascinated in a horrifying way. He had never imagined such a reaction and watching Mello fall apart was absolutely breathtaking. Of course, there had always been grieving families in the cases that he took on; it wasn't the first time he had seen a person cry. However, it was the first time he had seen the utter breakdown of a child. There was no way that he could have predicted that Mello would have taken the news so hard. He had even eased into the news by relating the modified events of the LABB murder case first. But it didn't work. Something had seemed to break within the boy as he gave the news. Now, he was staring at his bleeding palm, where shattered china had implanted itself courtesy of Mello's fit of rage.

In a sense, he felt mesmerized by the unadulterated display of emotion. He had never known anyone to project such intense feelings in such a terrifying exhibit. Perhaps it was because he himself had never been able to get such a release, to allow his grief to show. Bringing the bleeding palm to his lips, L allowed his tongue to tease the shard of the plate as it protruded from the oozing wound. The pain was sharp and burning, bringing a smile to his lips.

"Mello, death is a natural part of human existence." The words sounded empty and forced, even to his own ears. "It's completely understandable if-"

"I hate you!" Mello screeched, pounding the floor with his fist. "You took him away from me, I hate you, hate you, hate you!"

Even more surprising words for the detective. Sure, he had been hated by plenty of people, some of whom were still in prison, but this was the first person he had revealed himself to that claimed such a thing. Mello hated him? Logic screamed that Mello didn't mean what he was saying, that he was merely confused and trying to deal with the loss as best as he could, but a small voice whispered horrible little things. What if Mello really did hate him? If the painful sensation in his heart was anything to go by, then he was feeling a bit upset. He had done nothing but treat the boy well, giving into his every whim and even allowing physical intimacy. Mello had absolutely no reason to be acting in such a way.

Ignoring the clenching pain over his heart, L continued to watch the child sob. What else could he do? "Mello…"

Groaning like a wounded animal, Mello looked up at the older man with eyes burning full of hatred and grief. "Don't, I c-can't," he hissed.

Not knowing what else to do, L sat back more comfortably and silently observed as the blond picked himself off the floor and fled from the ruined room. Sighing, the detective stared at the doorway. He wouldn't have time to make peace between them before he left again for the Kira case. Biting his thumb he shook his head. All of his feelings needed to be shoved down carefully where it would be out of sight. The world needed a protector, and he was all that stood between Kira and a new world order. His problems would have to wait.

Lifting up his cellular phone, he dialed the familiar number. "Watari, we need to get going." But surely, after the case…

~_~_~_~_~_

"Why don't you go crying on _Near's _shoulder?!!"

As soon as the words had slipped past his lips, Matt had regretted them. Mello had rushed into the room in tears and nearly hysterical with grief. His first instinct had been to move to comfort his best friend, but bitterness had held him back. Mello obviously didn't need him anymore. The blond didn't even have the courtesy to tell Matt about getting together with Near and that hurt the brunette even worse than walking in on the two of them kissing. If they were best friends, then why wouldn't Mello tell him something like that? Obviously, they weren't best friends anymore. Near had taken that position, completely blindsiding the gamer. Still, seeing the hurt in those red-rimmed eyes cut through him like a serrated knife.

"I th-thought…I-I-I thought y-you'd-"

"W-well, I thought that you were my friend, Mello. And, um, I'm obviously…not." Every word he uttered hurt worse and worse for the both of them. Matt didn't want to be mean, but he was still nursing his own wounds. Mello had hurt him and he was hurting back. "If you and Near are so buddy-buddy, go cry on him." The last words came out as a whisper, as if he couldn't believe that he was blaspheming.

Even more hot tears rolled down the blond's face, and turning on his heel he raced out of the room. Echoes of his sobs could be heard down the hall, fading slowly. Other orphans began to whisper and gossip. What could have possibly upset Mello in such a way? Cursing under his breath, Matt just shoved a pillow over his head and pretended that he didn't even exist. He was somewhere else, far, far, away.

~_~_~_~_~_

"Watari? What's wrong?" The detective was exhausted after having to deal with so many emotional things, but he couldn't ignore his caretaker. As soon as the old man had picked him up, L had noticed how pale he was and how his hands held the steering wheel too tightly. Concern was bubbling up as his mind began to race through a list of possibilities.

"L, it's just…" Quillsh paused, taking a deep shaky breath. After a second, he pulled their car to the side of the road and turned it off. "I didn't want to say anything, L, but it wouldn't be fair to you."

Having never seen his guardian act this way, L curled in on himself more tightly. Something was seriously wrong. "Please feel free to relate the information to me at your own pace."

Quillsh nodded, turning to face his young charge. It would have definitely been better to give the news to him after the Kira case was over, but he couldn't keep the information at bay. Besides, L would have undoubtedly stumbled across it soon enough. "She's dead. Katrina died of a heart attack this morning."

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, L nodded. "When will they bury her?"

"There was a mistake at the morgue, and she was cremated this afternoon."

"Was there anything left in her cell?"

Clenching his fists, Quillsh couldn't believe that L had the internal fortitude to ask such questions calmly. With all that had been dumped on his plate recently, he was fully expecting a little more of a reaction. But again, L proved that he was anything but predictable. He had truly transcended emotions. "She had been keeping a diary, but that's all. I'm having it shipped to the new headquarters so that it will be ready for you when we make the move."

L nodded. "Very well. If you think you can drive, please carry on. If not, I'll be more than willing to take us to the jet."

"Of course, L." Turning towards the road, Mr. Wammy turned the ignition and pulled back out onto the silent asphalt. A part of him was extremely proud that L wasn't a crying mess but instead cool and collected, but another part of him wondered what exactly he had done to the child's humanity. If L couldn't cry for the death of his own mother, what could make him cry? "Please get your rest, Lawliet. You have lots of work to do." That was the closest he could get to comforting the stony man.

* * *

**Wow**,** this was a lot more drama than I had anticipated. O.O And I bet that no one saw those plot twists coming!!! Matt and Mello breaking up?! You'll have to wait and see. And yes, I acknowledge that I fail at updating in a timely manner. My bad! Still, I hoped that this made up for it. **


	34. Aftermath: Eye of the Storm

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, the lyrics to "Kissing You" by Des'ree, Barbie, or Kleenex**

**Since there seems to be a little confusion, I'd like to make a clarification. L's reasoning as to why Light could possibly be gay was intentionally weak. He was making assumptions for the sake of his argument. He was **_**looking **_**for reasons that Light **_**might **_**be homosexual, because without those he would have no way of putting his plan into action, or even coming up with a decent plan. **

**Warning: the return of Mattie's awesome potty mouth, lemon**

**

* * *

**Clenching the grass under his fingers, Mello let out an ear-shattering scream. Sorrow, guilt, pain, anger, hate, it all fueled on his scream as he forced his lungs to push harder and faster. Even when he was out of breath, the still air seemed to be carrying the heart-rending sound slowly, allowing for it to continue ringing in his ears. Mud smeared over his knees and hands and the warm air drew beads of sweat from his skin. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks and his congested nose forced all the breathing through his coughing and hiccupping throat. It was out in this very field that B had buried his first pet. It was right over the hill that B saved him from that grass snake. There were even a few nights that they would lie on their backs and B would teach him all the constellations. Rolling onto his back, and ignoring the cooling mud getting in his hair, Mello looked up at the dark sky. Each star seemed to be blinking happily, completely ignorant of the fact that a most wonderful person was now dead.

"Orion, Ursa Major, (hic) the Big Dipper, S-southern cross, Leo, uhng…" Hot tears welling in his eyes turned the sky into a pool of darkness with streaks of light, so he merely mumbled the list of constellations from memory. His throat felt as though it was swelling shut, making even breathing painful.

It wasn't fair. Beyond wasn't a bad person at all. He was kind, loving, smart, and lots of fun. Why would he kill people? What if someone forced him to do it and L punished him instead? No, no one could force B to do anything. If he really did commit those murders, he did it out of his own will. But would he really go so far just to show L that he wasn't going to become another clone? Rubbing his eyes, Mello couldn't deny that B murdering others wasn't particularly surprising to him. It seemed completely possible, but what didn't seem possible was that B would get caught. Even if it was L who was chasing after him, it just seemed wrong that B lost.

"We were sup-supposed to see each other ag-gain," he murmured. However, B's words bounced around in his head. He knew that they would never meet again. "S-stupid," Mello sighed.

Pressing the blood red beads on his wrist to his lips, he allowed his aching eyes to rest for a moment. There were many things that he had to decide tonight, and he wouldn't leave his position until he figured them out. Chief was his drive to become the next L. Could he go through with such a thing now? B had begged him not to become the successor and ignoring his command now that he was dead seemed to be a dishonor to the Letter's memory.

But then there was his mother's wish, whispering in a voice he couldn't even clearly remember. Become a good man, a good respectable person. How would he be able to achieve that if the wasn't chasing after L? He wasn't particularly talented in any of the arts, and Wammy's House only supported two things: the arts and the successors. Would they keep him at all if he decided to quit? Could he quit even if he wanted to? The thought of Near beating him still caused his stomach to clench uncomfortably.

Finally, there was Matt. No, he couldn't think about that. Finding himself on his hands and knees again, his stomach was regurgitating everything he had that evening. Acid burned his throat even as his emotional pain sent his mind into a haze. He had been with Matt for so long and yet…those harsh words still bit at him. How could Matt ever think that he had befriended Near over him? It was such a stupid accusation, but more than that, Matt had rejected him again. This time, it wasn't a rejection of a physical relationship, it was a rejection of their friendship. Handling B's death was more than enough for him, and he knew that he couldn't get himself together if he didn't push back his thoughts of Matt. Later, he could deal with them later.

_Pride can stand a thousand trials,  
the strong will never fall  
But watching stars without you,  
my soul cried.  
Heaving heart is full of pain,  
oh, oh, the aching._

~_~_~_~_~_

Everyone was at their limits. Slurping up his gelatin from the cold glass cup, L stared at the screen. It was day 50 of the confinement of Light Yagami and even the taskforce members were at the edge. Because the killings had resumed and neither Light nor Misa seemed to know anything about it, Aizawa and Matsuda were urging him to end the confinement for the sake of finding the true Kira.

'_But he's right there!' _L's heart was screaming. Even without any solid proof, his instincts were still adamant that Light Yagami was indeed Kira.

Still, he couldn't and wouldn't make a final arrest without proof. "I understand." Clicking on his microphone to Soichiro, he leaned forward. "Yagami-san."

"What?" the older man croaked, his voice weak from disuse. The poor father was an utter mess, his hair grown out and face unshaved. He even seemed in a worse condition than Light did and Light was sprawled out on the floor of his cell.

"I want to speak to you directly. Will you return to the taskforce headquarters?" Mr. Yagami looked towards the camera in weariness and slight suspicion. "I will share my conclusion on this case. As Light-kun's father, I want you to be the first to hear it."

"…fine."

As he waited for the elder Yagami, L forced his mind to remain on all the facts about the Kira case. There were so many other thoughts that wanted to rudely intrude, but he had to keep them at bay. Still, he allowed himself a frustrated sigh. Going to England was supposed to clear his mind for the case, not clutter it up with even more useless thoughts and feelings.

Thinking back to the countless hours he spent watching Light, L had to admit that the boy was intelligent as well as tough. Ever since the seventh day of confinement when Light's personality shifted, the boy had persisted in trying to talk his way out of the situation. Strange, considering that he was the one who offered to go into confinement in the first place. But everyday he had some new angle to try, all vain attempts to be freed. This Light seemed so sincere, so open. It was almost shocking how far he could read the boy. It was as if all the walls that had been diligently kept up during their acquaintance had fallen apart revealing a genuinely good person. There was no way under the heavens that Kira was a good person.

A knock on the door informed the detective that the older Yagami had arrived. L knew that he would accept the conditions of his son's release, even if it included putting his own life in danger. Better to die by his son's own hands (or the hands of the second Kira) if Light really was Kira, than to live with that shame. Such an honorable and stringent man. Actually, he was very much like the young Yagami. "Like father, like son," L mumbled. The thought brought a smile to his lips. He wasn't very much like _his _father at all.

~_~_~_~_~_

'_Yeah, this isn't strange at all,' _was all that Light Yagami could think as L clicked a handcuff on his thin wrist. "Is this really necessary Ryuzaki?"

"I'm not doing this because I want to," the disheveled man explained matter-of-factly.

"Huh? Is this what you meant by being together 24 hours a day?" the overly feminine voice of Misa Amane jumped in. Surrounded by a bunch of men, all of her girly qualities seemed to exaggerate themselves. Girls were supposed to have higher pitched voices, but after 50 days of hearing nothing but L's voice, he wasn't used to the sound. "Two guys chained together is gross. This is what you're into? You were with Light at school too…"

"I'm _not _doing this because I want to," L repeated slowly, as if Misa was a little touched in the head. Which she probably was.

"But Light belongs to me! And if you're always together, then when am I supposed to go on dates with Light?"

Light raised his eyebrow as he noticed L cock his hip to the side, holding an almost feminine position. Perhaps the hunched man just wasn't used to standing for any amount of time. Still, with his hips tilted that way and a hand resting inside his jean pockets, the young Asian boy couldn't help but notice the delicate frame that Ryuzaki possessed. Even his thin fingers hanging from a limp wrist seemed intriguing.

"The dates will naturally be with the three of us," L clarified.

"What?! You're saying we have to kiss in front of you?"

"I didn't say you have to do anything. But I will be watching."

Ugh, those two were being shamelessly humiliating. Glancing over at his father, Light saw both his dad and Aizawa looking quite uncomfortable, much like any _normal _human being would. If he didn't stop Misa and L who knew what else would come from their mouths?

"Huh? What the Hell?! I knew it! You _are _a pervert!" Misa cried.

"Light-kun, please shut Misa-san up."

The conversation carried on, getting increasingly ridiculous before Aizawa finally put an end to it. "Give it a freakin' rest with all this dating and kissing and Misa-Misa talk!! This is the _Kira Case_, damn it! Take it seriously!" Even Soichiro looked surprised by the younger man's outburst. However, Light was thankful that at least someone was concerned about the matters at hand. What did it matter when Misa saw him and "fell in love"? Clearly, L still doubted his innocence and was pulling at straws in order to get proof on him.

A general sigh of relief swept through the room as soon as Misa was locked away in the adjacent room. Looking back to L, Light found himself drawn to those striking eyes. Had the man never slept in his life? Yet, before he had any more time to analyze L's appearance, L went ahead and insulted his sense of justice. How could that oddball even consider that he would be cruel enough to play with a woman's emotions? Taking advantage of people was despicable and he couldn't believe that L would have the gall to ask him such a thing. However, L's reaction to his refusal to manipulate Misa was surprising. He looked…irritated? It was hard to tell what kind of expression L was showing, especially since he was a master of controlling his facial muscles. Who knew that there were so many variations of a frown?

"What's wrong Ryuzaki?"

"Nothing." And like that, they were back on more comfortable footing. The Kira case, new headquarters, helicopters, and newfound motivation. Light stood tall as he looked at the image of their soon-to-be headquarters. L was going to go through with this case until the very end, and if he had anything to say about it, so would he. Kira could not be allowed to go about as he pleased regardless of what may have been noble intentions.

~_~_~_~_~_

Nursing his swollen wrist, Light winced as he dabbed at his split lip. "I might need stitches you know," he grumbled to his abused chain-mate.

L rolled his eyes as he remained in his strange seated position. "If Light-kun didn't start it, then I wouldn't have had to finish it."

"Finish it? Who do you think you're kidding?" the brunette growled before turning back to his reflection and wondering sadly if his eye was going to swell any more. "Matsuda ended it."

"I believe the question is 'who do _you _think you're kidding'? If Matsuda hadn't interrupted us, I would have knocked you out."

"Tch, you're scrawny butt? I think not."

L looked at him strangely for a minute. "…did Light-kun just say 'butt'?"

"Yeah? What's wrong with 'butt'?"

"Hmm, that seems an odd choice of word for someone your age. A seven-year-old, maybe, but you…perhaps you are trying to leave me with an impression that you are more innocent than I suspect from you?"

"Ryuzaki? Are you seriously trying to create a profile on me based on my word choice?"

"Yes."

At least he was honest. "Well, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of, Ryuzaki. Now you're just being ridiculous."

"Different people have different terminology, all based upon their current location, where they lived most of their lives, influences on childhood, religion, standard of living, and a great deal of other things. It's entirely possible to create a semi-accurate profile of someone based on their use of language. For example, a well educated person would tend to use vocabulary of a higher caliber in order to send a message to others that he or she is smart."

"We're talking about the word 'butt'. There's no way to profile that."

"Ah, but you're-"

Light interrupted his reply with a loud groan and banged his forehead lightly on the bathroom sink. "Please stop. I refuse to indulge you by participating in your idiotic discussion."

"If you had merely used the word 'ass', then this whole discussion could have been avoided."

The brunette blushed a little. "Th-that's such a vulgar word, though."

L's eyes widened a little. Was Light being serious? Surely a young man his age really didn't mind…oh hell, he _was _being serious! "Who knew that you were such a prude, Light-kun?" he mumbled in astonishment.

A weak, but unexpected, side-kick sent the detective tumbling backwards ungracefully. "Just because I choose not to use undignified language doesn't mean I'm a prude! I'm classier than that!"

"Ah, so we _are _building a profile," L urged as he rocked forward and back onto the balls of his feet. "You do not say 'ass' because you are of a higher class? Kira would also refrain from such vulgarities, although I don't imagine that he would be embarrassed merely hearing the word."

"See? I'm not Kira."

"Goodness, Light-kun. That was a lame argument, even for you."

The younger man had never felt such an urge to kill someone (although his memory screamed that Misa was pretty high up there for some reason). However, he was dignified, and fighting childishly like this would do no good. With a huff, he pulled the detective back to the bathroom where he proceeded to examine his face in the mirror again. He would need to shower up first before-

"Hmm, Light-kun has a nice ass," L mumbled absentmindedly while nibbling on his dirty thumb.

"What?!!!"

"You don't think so?"

How was he even expected to answer that? "Why of course I do! But, I mean, why are you looking?!"

"I am sitting on the floor, and you are standing. My eye level gives me a clear view of your rather curvaceous behind and I felt it would be appropriate to disclose my opinion."

Light sputtered as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he was getting checked out by a perverted detective to whom he was chained. He wanted to turn away and hide his poor rear end from the man's view, but just imagining what L would say about his front side (which was also eye-level to the man) kept him in place. "That was anything but appropriate!"

"You don't think complimenting someone about the shape of their rear end is appropriate?" L asked with a concerned tilt of his head.

"Are you…are you retarded? I mean, really, are you mentally challenged?"

"I assure Light-kun that I am as fit as a fiddle."

"…that didn't answer my question."

~_~_~_~_~_

Okay, so maybe the ass compliment wasn't his most brilliant move. In fact, it might be thrown up there along with his just-plain-stupid ideas. Subtle, he kept reminding himself. Must be subtle. So, while Light continued searching for clues that would lead to Kira and he just rolled around in his chair, L would throw out casual compliments.

"Light-kun's hair is especially well-placed today."

"I noticed that you didn't eat much for breakfast, and you're figure is thanking you for it."

"The bruising has gone down quite a bit today, hasn't it?"

"You wear make-up better than Misa does. Oh? You're not wearing any?"

Unfortunately, nothing seemed to be working. If anything, Light seemed to be drawing back away from him! This whole seduction thing was turning out to be a lot more work than he had bargained for. Scratching at a scab on his knuckles, L tried to think of his next move. Even if he wasn't getting anywhere at the moment, he couldn't give up! Besides, what else could he do?

As much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, there was actually a chance, a _reasonable _chance that Light was straight and had no interest whatsoever in the same gender. This could pose a very serious problem. _'But still!' _his mind huffed in irritation, _'From the behavior I have observed, Light doesn't particularly seem to care about women. They're all over him all the time, or used to be, but he would look bored and only treated them semi-nice if there was something in it for him. He would put on an out-of-character act any time he was "dating" a girl. The Light I knew before confinement was extremely manipulative and altogether unimpressed with women. But, the flip-side to that is that he didn't seem any more interested in men. But then again, even now he shows no interest in Misa even though she is more than willing to lavish attention on him.'_

Staring at the freshly bleeding injury on his knuckle, L sighed. "I may have hit a road block."

"Road block?" Light echoed, pulling his eyes away from the screen for a moment. "You haven't even been participating in this case lately! How could you have hit a road block?"

"I'm talking about my life, Light-kun," L easily lied. "All my life I have lived doing what I want, getting what I want, and I thought I was happy and fulfilled. Honestly, now that I've come into this case, my eyes have been opened. I claimed to be justice and yet I never really understood what that meant."

Light turned his chair to fully face the older man. "Ryuzaki, I had no idea…"

"Ah, yes. To be honest (_hmm, well not really_) I didn't know it myself. Perhaps that's why I find it so hard to move on in this case. I'm having to stop for a moment and really analyze why I'm doing this. Is this nothing more than a game? Justice is not a game, and with something as serious as this, I sure would hate to lose my life over a _game_."

Golden brown eyes soften and Light patted his forearm. "It's okay, Ryuzaki. Everyone has to go through this at some point in their lives. They have to figure out the meaning of their life and their work. Why bother doing something that doesn't have any meaning? Humans only have a small portion of time as their life, why waste it doing something meaningless?"

"Light-kun, I believe that you are cheering me up. Just a little, though."

A sincere smile curled on the teen's lips. "That's good. All of us here know how smart you are and how much good you've done for the world. It's fine if you need a little time to see that for yourself. With you on the side of justice, Kira won't stand a chance!"

"But you're mistaken. Without the taskforce, including you, even I might have been hopeless to Kira." L knew that their conversation was being eavesdropped on by the other taskforce members, and throwing them a bone wouldn't hurt. After all, people were more likely to be motivated to work and work hard for someone who occasionally recognized them for their dedication.

Light nodded, with a new spark in his eyes. "Let's work together, Ryuzaki, and there's no way that we won't catch Kira."

Just seeing the excitement and fervor in the boy made L smile. At this moment, he could imagine that Light really was innocent. But he knew better; even if he wasn't currently Kira or being controlled by Kira, he was dangerous. Still, this was a step in the right direction for once.

~_~_~_~_~_

Near was aggravated. An aggravated Near was _never _a good thing as he tended to destroy things when in that state. Now, things that ended up destroyed were usually out of the community toy box. At the moment, he was carelessly swapping the heads of all the Barbie dolls. If his life wasn't in perfect order, then why the hell did those dolls deserve to be in order? Why did any of the toys deserve to be left alone, intact? There was no good reason, so he destroyed that order. It was much better to take out his negative feelings on inanimate objects anyway. Yanking Teresa's arm out of socket, he frowned before tossing it over his shoulder. She would look better as an amputee.

"Fucking hell, that's just sick."

Speak of the devil. Near turned to glare at the boy who not only dared to speak to him but who also caused damage to his most precious treasure. "Go away, Matt."

Matt braced himself and let a sneer streak across his face. "What is it with all you guys?"

"I do not know what you mean by 'all you guys' since I am not psychic. All I know is that I'm extremely angry with you, so leave me alone."

Now the brunette was seething. "You guys! All of Wammy's House you dipshit! Why are you guys treating me like trash?!"

Near placed a finger against his chin delicately, mockingly in a thoughtful position. "Hmm, I don't know, maybe it has something to do with the fact that Mello ran out of your room crying and ended up staying outside all night which resulted in his getting a cold?"

Of course, Matt wasn't an idiot. Since no one else knew that Mello visited another friend, this mysterious Loyal, he was the one getting blamed for Mello's hysterics. "Listen, I didn't do anything to him. All I did was tell him to go running to you!"

A look of surprise momentarily flashed across Near's face before disappearing completely. "What did you mean by that stupid comment? Why on earth would Mello run to me?"

Glaring at his rival, Matt did his best to hold his worst insults back. "I mean, why doesn't he run to _you,_ his little love bunny! I saw you two sucking faces in the library! I know that you guys are an item!!!"

This time, Near didn't bother removing the surprised expression. "But if you saw us, there shouldn't have been a doubt that we are _not _an item."

"What?" Now Near wasn't making sense. How on earth did making-out _not_ translate into them being an item. "I saw you kissing! That means you guys are together!"

"Wait," Near replied slowly. "Did you see the entire thing?"

"N-no! I'm not a pervert!"

Shaking his head, Near looked mournfully at the toys he had devastated. "Then that's why you're acting like an idiot. You completely missed Mello ever so kindly kicking me in the groin." If he hadn't been so angry, Matt probably would have doubled over laughing at the mental image of Near clutching his balls in agony. "Don't ever presume to know what the relationship between me and Mello is like. You know nothing. Next time, _ask _before sending Mello out in tears."

"S-so…you're not going out?"

"No."

"But you kissed."

"Yes."

"And he kicked you in the nuts."

"Yes."

Oh shit, what had he done? "But he- you! I mean, anyone would have thought the same thing!"

"No, Matt. Normal people would have asked before throwing around accusations that they know would hurt their friend."

"Damn it, we're not normal! And how the bloody hell would you know what normal people do?!"

Near rolled his eyes. "I read." Yeah, like books showed off normal people.

Turning on his heel, Matt ran down the halls in search for his Mello. No, it didn't matter that he had been thinking in terms of Near being a rival or Mello being his. He didn't even know what he was going to do if or when he found Mello. Everyone knew that Mello had been released from the infirmary yesterday, but Matt didn't know where he was spending his time, and yet he still ran full steam ahead.

'_Idiot, idiot, idiot!!! Near's right, I'm such a douche bag.' _Biting his lip, he raced through the library, looking everywhere for his friend. _'I really hurt him, and that was so stupid! I care a lot for Mello and all I end up doing is hurt him. Does he really need a terrible friend like me? I mean, wouldn't he be better without me? How can I even be considered a genius when I couldn't even figure out that there was no way that Mello would abandon me for Near? Mello, I'm so sorry!'_

Skidding across the freshly mopped hardwood flooring, Matt grabbed a hold of a window frame and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. Barely peeking out from behind the giant oak tree, strands of blond hair were teasingly waving him over. No one had hair that beautiful besides Mello. Taking a deep breath to force the oxygen down to his tar covered lungs, Matt sprinted down the stairs, around the nannies, across the mudroom, out the door and over the soft billowing grass. Unfortunately, with all his speed built up, he couldn't stop his momentum as soon as Mello came into sight.

Turquoise eyes looked up only seconds before Matt awkwardly tackled his friend. Since he hadn't expected that, Mello yelped and rolled backwards, taking the brunette down to the ground with him. The book he had been reading flew through the air, its pages desperately flapping in the wind as if to gain flight. Gravity smiled and down it went, collapsing over a mound of grass.

"M-maaa?" Mello groaned, his congested nose not allowing him to enunciate properly.

Panting for breath, Matt looked down at his angel. Even through the tinted goggles, Mello shone like the sun. It didn't matter that his eyes were watery or his nose was stuffed or even that he looked utterly miserable. Mello was beautiful and he couldn't take it. Leaning down, Matt pressed his lips to those questioning lips.

Children were squealing in happiness as one of the nannies turned the hose on and sprayed them with the cold water.

A grasshopper flew overhead, its wings thrumming loudly.

Roger was calling down from one of the windows, telling one of the orphans to catch some bugs for him.

The wind whistled through the branches and leaves, comforting whispers floating down to the two boys below.

All of that was white noise as Matt gently slid his lips along with Mello's; gloved fingers dug into the tense arms of the older boy, barely acknowledging the muscles slowly relaxing. All he could feel or hear were their lips. It was a foreign feeling. No, not just the fact that someone else's lips were over and between his or that he wanted more. It was foreign that his mind was completely blank. There was no analyzing, no calculations, no voices, nothing. His hyperactive mind had decided to take a holiday, leaving him helpless and completely focused on one thing. One thing.

When did his eyes close? Mello was panting, his fingers clutching Matt's baggy shirt desperately. His body was screaming for oxygen since he couldn't breathe through his nose, but he gave that part of his mind the finger and forced himself to suck on those chapped lips even more hungrily. Why the hell didn't Matt use lip balm? And the taste of cigarettes was there, deeply saturated in his breath, and the blond wondered if even his tongue tasted like that. Near was clean, a taste of nothing but flesh, L was like licking a sugar cube, but what was Matt? Pulling back for a few gulps of air, Mello delved back in, determined to really taste his friend, his crush.

"Matt?" a very close voice questioned.

Looking up with glassy eyes, Matt could barely comprehend that there was a little girl standing curiously next to them. "Hn?" For some reason, it felt like his lips were on fire and he couldn't get them to form proper words.

"What're you doing?" she asked, rocking onto her toes with her hands clasped behind her back.

Mello tilted his head backward and got an upside down view of the petite blond. Her hair was up in pigtails and from his angle he could see up her sundress. Trying to recover some of the blood that had rushed down to his nether regions, Mello tried to kick-start his brain into action so that he could at least recall who she was.

Matt just gaped at her, struggling to remember how to speak. It was extremely difficult considering that he was becoming aware of a little problem he had in his pants. So much for his super fast brain.

The little girl giggled and a dusty pink blush rose to her cheeks. She was new to Wammy's House and had been attracted to the brunette as soon as she saw him. He looked so cool and reminded her of an older cousin who had been very dear to her. Of course, she never expected to find him on top of another boy, much less _Mello_, but it was pretty entertaining. She could practically see the wheels turning in both of the boys' minds as they tried to come up with some excuse.

Tilting her head to the side she smiled sweetly. "Never mind. Sorry for interrupting you two!" Golden curls were lifted up by the wind and teased for a moment before being set back down. "But you guys should be careful. Roger's starting to make his rounds, and I don't think he'd appreciate seeing you two like that." Matt nodded dumbly and Mello let his hands fall from the other boy's sides. "Oh, and I know that summer's for pitching tents, but I don't think that your pants count." Turning on her heel and laughing sweetly, she hopped away leaving the two disheveled boys scrambling to fix up before Roger found them.

~_~_~_~_~_

It was really strange. Listening to the clock ticking away contentedly, Light glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping L. Of course, since he couldn't sit or stand normally, it wasn't a surprise when his sleeping habits (and posture) remained beyond the boundary of normal. The older man had been content to pull up a chair beside the bed and proceeded to fall asleep in it in the exact same position as if he'd been sitting to eat a piece of cake or one of his god-awful sugar-kabobs. The only difference was that his eyes were closed. Being careful not to make any unnecessary sounds with the handcuff chain, Light rolled over to further examine the sleeping detective.

At four in the morning, what he found disturbingly strange was the relationship that was developing between him and L. For the first time in his life, he had found someone whose intelligence actually rivaled his own and the serious discussions that they occasionally indulged in always left his mind content. But it hadn't stopped there. Not only could they be serious with each other, but they could expose their childish sides to each other and engage in meaningless conversations and immature insults. Who could have ever predicted that Light would have called anyone a "turd" and would be in turn called a "Mama's boy"? No one he knew at school would have ever dared to do such a thing, but L was never afraid to.

In fact, their being together 24/7 had allowed for something that Light had never experienced before. Intimacy. Light knew that L had the compulsion to brush his teeth with bubblegum flavored children's toothpaste at least seven times a day, and with the amount of sugar he consumed it was probably a good thing. He also knew that L was extremely picky about the bar of soap being on the second shelf of the shower tower; never the first and most definitely never on the third. Smiling, Light realized that he probably knew more about L than anyone else did. In all honesty, he felt that L understood him quite well too. Except for the you-are-Kira part, L seemed to be very good at reading him and respecting his own needs. Not once had the detective complained about his need to shower twice a day or eat a strict and healthy diet. L spared no expense when ordering food for the taskforce and Light had been pleasantly surprised to receive nothing less than the best organic food prepared to perfection. But more than just being able to tolerate each other's habits, they had become accustomed to each other's presence. Light used to hate people touching his person, but being handcuffed to someone changed that all. Besides, L didn't have clammy or clingy hands. Those thin fingers were delicate and touched everything as if they were priceless valuables. However, he didn't treat them as valuable, with throwing things around.

Why was he thinking about all these things? Letting his smile relax into a neutral expression, Light wondered why he cared. So what if he and L had gotten close to each other? They were like siblings, sometimes getting along and other times chewing each other out and purposefully annoying the other. So what if they were comfortable enough to be their true selves? Blinking in surprise, Light nearly gasped "Eureka!" That was it! _That's _exactly why he was taking the time to think about these things. It was because he had never shown his true feelings or acted selfishly before. Being around L had been his first exposure to such a relaxed and unpresuming atmosphere! Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he thought back to his life at home. Yes, his parents were great and Sayu was nice, he had always felt the need to show nothing but his best qualities. After all, he was so gifted and so good looking that he felt the constant need to make his parents proud for what they gave him. They also raised him to be a gentleman, and he dared not to step out of that role for any reason. Around L, he had no reason to be a complete gentleman! The hunched detective didn't care about things like that at all, and wouldn't judge him if he stepped out of line.

Actually, L would tease him for acting so uptight and would goad him into losing his cool. L was no longer just a good friend. He was…well, he was practically Light's best friend. Letting his eyes roam over the hunched man, Light found himself smiling again. Even though it had been extremely irritating and rude, Light had actually gotten accustomed to the awkward compliments L would throw at him. It was almost kind of cute how he would look extremely thoughtful before blurting such ridiculous things. Who else would look him in the eye and tell him that his eyes looked like "a burnt piece of pumpkin pie"? Interestingly enough, he had noticed that L didn't bother to attempt to compliment anyone else on the taskforce. Was he only doing it because Light had to put up with him far more than the others did, or was he…

Rolling back to his other side, Light fluffed up his pillow and rested his head against it softly. He would have to find out what that detective was up to, and he intended to do it before the end of the day.

~_~_~_~_~_

Surprisingly, nothing much changed between them. Well, it was more like they were falling back into how they used to be. Grinning, Matt buried his face into Mello's neck. The blond had already kicked the sheets off their bed and had his limbs sprawled out. It was pretty warm, but Matt didn't mind. Heat couldn't bother him if it meant being close to his friend. Not to be overly optimistic or anything, the brunette was kind of hoping that they wouldn't stay friends much longer. Maybe they could be…more? He giggled girlishly at that thought and held Mello closer. Why the hell was he so happy?! Ever since he had kissed Mello, he found himself being extra klutzy (like his growing limbs needed any help tripping over themselves) and giggly around the blond and even though he was irritated with his own behavior, he couldn't deny that it made him happy. Truly happy. He couldn't even remember what it had been like to be tortured and insecure around his Mello.

"Ngh, Maddie?" Mello mumbled heavily as he turned around in the younger boy's arms. "Isth hock."

"Yeah, I know it's hot. Do you want me to move?"

Mello shook his head blearily and tugged at the younger boy's shirt. "Off."

Blushing a little, Matt sat up and stripped off his shirt. If anyone else had made that request, they would have been denied flat out. No one but Mello could see those scars, and in the darkness they were mostly hidden. "There?"

Nodding, Mello fumbled with his t-shirt and with his friend's help was able to take that off as well. Content with their state of undress, Mello rested his head on the pillow again and snuggled more comfortably against his bedmate. "G'night," he murmured, already halfway back to the world of dreams.

Grinning, Matt pulled him even closer. He let a little sigh in contentment when bare skin rubbed against bare skin. Each touch was a little shock of pleasure and excited him far more than any pornography or stroke of his hand. "I love you," he murmured against the sleeping boy's ear, content to be in Mello's arms.

~_~_~_~_~_

"We're both adults, right?"

L looked suspiciously at Light as he guided his hand towards a tray full of cherries. "Well, at least I'm an adult. Not sure about you."

The boy's right eye twitched a little, but to his credit, he didn't throw a punch at the detective. "I'm being serious."

"If you insist," L sighed. "Yes, we are both legally adults."

"Then we should be able to confront things in a mature way, correct?"

Furrowing his brow, L tried to figure out what his suspect was getting at. Light hadn't been acting particularly suspicious lately. In fact, he had been working extremely hard on the case without complaint. "Yes," he replied slowly, trying to read the younger man's expression. He wasn't nervous, didn't look guilty or eager. It was more like a cool expression of slight curiosity. "Please feel free to be honest with me, Yagami-kun."

"Of course. I always intend to be honest with you."

"What is it you want?" L asked, spitting out a cherry seed.

Light turned to examine the clock. It was 11:43 in the evening and everyone was gone by now. There wouldn't be any more interruptions from the "other" L either. It was just him and his chain-mate. "It's simple, actually. I just want to test something out."

L relaxed a bit. "As long as it doesn't involve my taking the chain off, please feel free to test anything out. I have all kinds of computers for simulations and-"

"I think you have the wrong impression, Ryuzaki," Light interrupted smoothly. There was a warm smile on his lips. "All I need is you."

Now, L knew that he wasn't all that familiar with romance or seduction (as he had proved to himself lately), but even his ignorant mind couldn't manage to misinterpret that request. Leaning back on his heels and offering what he hoped would be an encouraging smile, L nodded. "Very well. I'm ready."

That was the nice thing about L. Light didn't need to spell things out for him. Putting his hands on the overstuffed armrests of the recliner, Light leaned forward as his eyes closed. Reflexively lifting his fingers to delicately touch the young Asian's face, L let his eyes close and accepted the kiss.

There wasn't a great many things that L wasn't thinking about at that moment, least of all which was the simple fact that Watari was diligently watching the surveillance footage. Tea sprayed all over the screens as Quillsh coughed up the liquid that had gone down the wrong tube. If it wasn't for the fact that the two boys were still kissing, he wouldn't have believed his eyes. Fatigue, old age, dirty glasses, all of those could explain a glimpse of such a shocking thing. But no, this was not a trick of the light or a glitch in the system. This was Light Yagami invading L's personal bubble and physically engaging the older detective.

"W-what?!" he sputtered as he witnessed L open his mouth to deepen the kiss.

This was not happening!!! L was not making out with his suspect and certainly not in front of an audience. Still, the scene didn't change and Quillsh was left with a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what L was up to, but he needed to a put a stop to it immediately.

"What the bloody hell is he thinking?!" he hissed as he raced to the telephone.

The sensations along his mouth were quite pleasant, L observed. It was a good thing that Mello had taught him the finer points of Frenching seeing as Light was actually very good. It would have been humiliating if the younger man overwhelmed him. He was definitely going to send the probably still upset blond a ton of chocolate. A particularly rough stroke against the roof of his mouth caused him to shiver and a small moan slipped past his throat. Light's fingers tightened their grip on his hair and he deducted that the other was enjoying himself as well. The telephone in their room began ringing rudely, but L gripped Light's shirt tightly to keep him in place. He wasn't about to let this opportunity slip past.

~_~_~_~_~_

Regardless of Watari's scathing e-mails and attempted phone calls, L eagerly pushed his new relationship with Light forward. They had been kissing and fondling for a few weeks already, and he was more than ready to take the next step. Light had been getting along with him exceptionally well since their first kiss and had acted with all the maturity of someone much older. Unlike the majority of girls, he didn't turn into a giggling monster of shyness and doubt. He didn't act differently during his work, and he never let their fun impede on his search for Kira. There was no need to tease each other in the presence of the other taskforce members as both of them enjoyed the "privacy" of their relationship. Light was everything that he could have wanted in a lover. Even if they disagreed on things outside their romantic life, Light never dragged that into the bedroom. He never told L to stop, and sometimes he would be the one to push them forward. His body was beautiful and he never felt ashamed of it. The confidence was quite becoming on him.

Grinning down at his lover, L delicately kissed his sharp nose. "Would you feel comfortable if I engaged in a more physical form of stimulation with you?"

Chuckling, the teen let his hand stroke the pale man's neck. "As long as you use a condom."

L raised an eyebrow. "Light-kun is offering to bottom?"

"Would you let me top?" he asked sarcastically.

"Absolutely not."

"I thought so."

Keeping their arms around each other, L didn't feel rushed at all. He was conscious that Watari was watching them and was probably going to blow a gasket, but he didn't care. Leaning forward, he sucked gently on the tanned skin of the teen's neck. Light sighed in contentment, but after a few minutes, he bucked up a little, revealing that he was turned on and ready to get down to business. Making sure that the bed sheets were still obstructing Watari's view of their naked waists, L sat up. He had never been ashamed of his body around Light, and now was no different.

"Would you do the honors, Light-kun?"

There was a little nervousness in those golden eyes, but he nodded. "Where are they?"

"Oh, in the bedside table to your left. Yes, that top drawer."

Light pulled out the small box of condoms. Personally, he was a little scared about taking this next step. Kissing and fondling, that was stuff that even young kids do. But this, he was about to engage in something far more adult, something that meant a whole lot more than a kiss. Carefully opening the box, he pulled out the packets and smiled. Who could have imagined that he would be doing something so…human…with the person farthest away from humanity. L's owlish eyes looked down on him and he chuckled just imagining what his classmates would think of his tastes in people. He had noticed it a while back, but the physical attributes of a person had never really been a concern of his. Ever since he was a child, he had always looked past the shallow shell of the physical body and had focused on their inner qualities. There were plenty of people who looked beautiful on the outside but were rotting disgusting creatures on the inside. Now here he was with a person as about as attractive as a piece of lint and he was giving up his body.

It wasn't just for the physical pleasure. He had a Spartan-like control over his physical urges and could easily go without sex for years more, but just now, with his partner looking so happy and eager it felt like the right thing. So yes, he admitted to himself that he was scared, but at the same time he wasn't worried. No one could be better for him and their carnal bonding would make it more clear to them. To share something so precious with each other was the most wonderful feeling possible.

Soft flexible fingers tore the wrapper off carefully and pulled out the rolled up condom. "Ever wonder about who invented these things?" he mumbled as he picked up the box to look for any warnings or tips for use.

"No. Do you, Light-kun?"

"Yeah. I'm always like that. Like who invented teriyaki sauce. Or fish sticks. Things like that."

L nearly sweatdropped as he watched the younger man talk so casually about such weird things. He was assuming that such topics weren't usually discussed when getting in the mood. Oh well, Light was not normal, so he shouldn't assume that he would know normal bed-talk.

"I prefer to ponder over grander things discovered, Light-kun; like who invented braids for example. Knitting is quite a mystery as well." Hell, he wasn't much better.

Light just laughed and shook his head. His left hand dropped the box and took the small tube of lube that had been next to the condoms. "Here, the box says that it's better to lube you up a little before putting on the condom."

"Ah, I'll do that." Popping the top off with his teeth, L poured some of the liquid on his fingers and spread it over his hot member. It was amazing that he had still managed to stay hard during their odd conversation. A blush rose to his cheeks and his breath sped up a little as his fingertips increased the pressure of each stroke.

"Tch, don't get off yet," Light chided, pulling the detective's hands away. "That should be enough." In a fluid motion he pressed the condom to the head of the impressive cock in front of him and slid it across the member. "That was easy." Grinning cruelly, the teen began to stroke the flesh teasingly. "How does it feel, Ryuzaki?"

Demon. The boy under him was a demon. Biting his lip, L refused to give into that wonderful _palm _whispering across his member. "It'll feel better when I'm pounding you into the mattress."

"So what are you waiting for?" he asked hotly placing his hands behind his knees and pulling his legs apart.

Blood nearly spewed out of the detective's nose as he took in the sultry scene before him. When did Light learn to be so fucking tempting?! He was younger and yet so very…very much in charge. Perhaps this was why he didn't mind being the catcher? Shaking his head, L decided that he wasn't going to just follow along with Light. His childish need to dominate, to be the number one swelled up. Grabbing the slight frame, he flipped the teen over to his stomach and pressed his weight on the sculpted back. "I was waiting for you to get _cocky_," he whispered as he poured the cool lubrication down Light's backside.

Light groaned as he felt the lube rolling down his thighs and some pooling in the small of his back. His needy flesh was being rubbed against the sheets and he nearly cried out in the pleasure of it all. If that stupid detective didn't hurry up, he would finish himself off. Before he had the chance to let his feelings be known, he felt one of those wonderfully skilled fingers forcing its way into his body. "Haahn," he breathed out lightly.

"Let me know if it starts to hurt."

"O-okay."

Surprisingly, it didn't take long to prepare the Asian. He remained relaxed through the entire ordeal and L almost felt a little spark of respect for him. Even though he definitely wasn't comfortable, Light had enough self control to do what was best. The wonderful sounds spilling past his swollen lips had been quite the incentive to hurry up, so L wasted no time in removing his fingers and pressing his cock against the stretched orifice.

"Are you ready?"

Looking over his shoulder with half-lidded eyes, Light nodded. "Do it quick," he requested with a strained voice.

L's expression softened and he pressed a quick kiss to the boy's cheek. He didn't need to offer any words of encouragement or advice; they would only insult the teen's pride. Taking a deep breath, he pressed past the resisting muscles and didn't stop until he was to the hilt.

"God!!!" Light screamed as he clenched the headboard. "Ngh, ahhh!"

"Is, i-is it too much?" L panted, sweat breaking across his forehead. The sweltering heat of another body was attempting to swallow him and he was feeling quite light-headed.

"N-nain," he replied, slipping back into his native language. The feelings was so intense, it effortlessly shattered his mask of control. "Move!"

Bracing his hands on either side of the Asian, L pulled back before shoving back in as hard as he could. Those screams, he wanted to hear more. After a few hasty minutes of shoving his cock mercilessly into his partner, he hit a different angle. The result was spectacular, as a high needy cry assaulted his ears. "L-light-kun?"

"A-ah, that…ngh, again."

Grinning, L leaned down to lick at the back of the brunette's neck. "Hmm? Do what again?"

'_Why that bastard!'_ Light hissed in his mind. _'Being so fucking smug just cause he's top. I'll have to fix that. I won't be the only one screaming!'_

Straining his muscles, Light pulled his knees to his chest and kicked against the bed with all his force. L wasn't prepared for a counter-attack and yelped as he fell backwards with Light on top of him. So much for censoring their activities from Watari.

"_This_," Light replied haughtily before pushing himself down on the engorged flesh and hitting his prostate again. "Khh, aaah!"

Gaping in surprise, L couldn't believe that he was actually being topped by Light. Sort of. However, he couldn't deny the fact that seeing the boy's back rippling with pleasure as he rode L's cock was…hot. It was damn hot.

"Heh, heh, a bit needy, aren't you?"

Light looked over his shoulder with an expression of pleasure mixed with irritation. "You're not doing it right, s-so I got—got to take charge."

Sitting up slightly, L wrapped his arms around the masculine if thin waist. His fingers trailed across Light's bouncing cock. The brunette tossed his head back and continued to lift and thrust himself down. "T-this, I'm—Ryuzaki, I'm!"

The muscles around him clenched down in spasms, knocking the wind out of him. For a few seconds, nothing could process in L's mind. Haltingly, L became aware of panting, and then of a hot sweaty body above him. Still huffing, the detective was surprised to find that his teeth were harshly clenched around some flesh right below Light's shoulder blade. "L-light-kun?"

Shaking his head as if waking up from a day dream, the teen looked over his shoulder again at the red-faced detective. A weakened smile spread across his face. "I got…you to scream."

~_~_~_~_~_

_Dear Katrina,_

_Congratulations on your greatest  
escape. Even my caretaker was fooled.  
But, that was a bit cruel to hurt him  
like that. You know that I'm hunting  
Kira and death by heart attack was  
something that would get my attention.  
Thankfully, I'm not a simpleton. A  
mistake at the morgue? Yes, what a  
coincidence. Your journal was also  
quite helpful in finding you, so thank  
you for that. _

_Now, I won't have the  
time to write to you again until this  
case is over. However, I am not ignorant  
of the fact that I might be killed  
during this case. If you couldn't be  
bothered with it, would you check the  
enclosed address? This is where I will  
be buried should Kira get the best of me._

_Please forgive my morbidity, but  
what I am telling you is absolutely  
necessary. I have one final piece  
of information. Should you find my  
plot filled at any point in time,  
please don't be worried. My  
successor will take over the case.  
Kira will not be allowed to rule  
the world; that, I promise._

_Good luck with your new life, and  
may your sickness remain at bay.  
It had been a pleasure meeting you,  
and I hope that I didn't disappoint  
you too terribly much. _

_~L_

Dabbing at her eye with a Kleenex, Katrina sighed. The chorus of cars racing along the street and people chatting away below was muffled by her windows and the running air conditioner. She knew that L would figure things out and contact her, but she had been surprised by the contents of the note.

"Good luck to you too, L," she whispered, pressing a lipstick smeared kiss to the typed note. "You're going to need it."

~_~_~_~_~_

"Serves you right," Mello spat haughtily at the curled up brunette.

"I hake ckalds!" Matt moaned miserably, his hand groping around for tissues. "Isth all yous faulck."

"You brought it on yourself, so it's not really my fault. But, I'd be lying if I said that I'm not a little happy about bringing about your misery."

Teary blue eyes looked up at the already well European. Damn his perfect immunity system! It dumped everything on him! "Th-thacks mean."

A smile curled on Mello's lips and even though his body language screamed that he was still a little pissed off over Matt's being an asshole, Matt knew that he was forgiven. Mello leaned over and stroked his hair comfortingly. "You'll get over it soon."

"Ugh, thancks a lock."


	35. L Lawliet

**This chapter is dedicated to Virtual ST (whom I shall forever call my SanTahaki). Without her, this chapter may have taken a whole lot longer to put up. Also, for all of you who keep sending me encouraging reviews, a giant thank you. –bows- It's for you guys that I keep writing this.**

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****_October 1, 2004_**

The clicking of fingers on keys echoed through the room accompanied by the slight squeak of L's swivel chair. Spinning around until the chain that kept him attached to Light was taut, L would then start spinning in the other direction unwinding the restriction. Light barely spared him a glance these days when he would entertain himself. Suddenly, the tapping of fingers increased and Light gave a gentle tug to his handcuff.

"Ryuzaki. I know you're not into this, but come over here for a second."

"Hmm?" Scooting his chair closer to the young Asian, L boredly leaned over the boy's shoulder to look at the screen.

"Take a look at this. Look at the change here, and look at this sudden growth."

Dark eyes scanned over the information scrolling across the screen. The more he read, the wider his grin began to spread. He could feel Light beaming next to him in triumph. "Y…yagami-kun…"

"How about now?" Light chuckled, looking every bit the excited teenager that he was. "Ready to get to work?"

Leaning forward more, L found himself casually settling a hand on the boy's right shoulder even as his other hand made its way to his lips. His pointer finger stroked his lower lips as he gently rubbed Light's tired shoulder.

"If this is connected to Kira, then punishing criminals may not be the true goal of _this_ Kira."

Nodding, Light examined the older man's face. It looked like L might finally rejoin the investigation. "Yeah, it's possible that punishing criminals is camouflage while he kills for monetary reasons."

"Yagami-kun, you once said that if an adult had this power, he would use it for his own benefit or to make money. This would fit that. Though…since Kira and the second Kira existed at the same time, this could be an entirely new Kira from the one who was killing criminals." Sliding his hand to Light's left shoulder as Matsuda walked over, L gave him an encouraging pat. "Very impressive research, Yagami-kun."

"Thanks."

"I helped a lot with this too, Ryuzaki," Matsuda butted in.

Light continued as if the young police officer didn't even exist. "It's all thanks to this new system that allows us to access police, public, and media data from all over the world. At first, I didn't know what to look for, but I started over with the idea that Kira was in Japan and searched based on that." He didn't even need a breath to continue. "It's a fact that a majority of those killed are in Japan and when you compare the deaths with media coverage, it's clear that Kira gets his information from these local Japanese sources. Since Kira kills with heart attacks, I thought there may be some victims that we haven't been able to pin on him yet. So, I searched for all the people who died of heart attacks up to now including non-criminals. That would usually be an incredible amount of work, but this system made it relatively fast."

"I helped a lot on this, Ryuzaki," Matsuda interrupted again, clearly expecting some praise.

Again acting like Matsuda was nothing more than office decoration, Light pressed on. "I planned to carefully examine every heart attack victim over the last five months, but I quickly noticed three suspicious cases. Two could be coincidence, but not three. All three of these victims were in important positions in the Japanese business world, and all died of heart attacks. So I researched the three companies, Sekimaru, Aoi, and Yotsuba. Yotsuba's stock has been rising steadily while Sekimaru and Aoi's have plummeted."

"So then you did further research into other deaths involving people in the business world?" L guessed, his finger still tracing his lips slowly.

"Yeah, and look. Thirteen deaths were beneficial to Yotsuba in only three months. From the other company's point of view, only two or three were beneficial. Besides those earlier three, the rest died in accidents or by disease, one committed suicide and two were killed this week by Kira after being indicted for corruption."

"These three months are after you were put in confinement and the killings stopped and then resumed…that intrigues me…"

"That's true," Light sighed. "What do you think? I have to conclude that Kira is supporting Yotsuba."

L looked meaningfully at the younger detective. "But, if that's the case…"

"Yeah."

"Kira can kill in ways other than heart attacks!" the both exclaimed at the same time.

Matsuda looked impressed. "Wow, you guys were in synch."

L looked back at the officer with a twitch in his eye. "_That _was all that you got out of Yagami-kun's lengthy dialogue? _That's _what you were impressed by?"

Matsuda just laughed nervously and waved his hands in front of himself frantically. "N-no, I just mean that it's great that you guys haven't been fighting lately."

"I might have to kick you," L deadpanned.

"Uh, I'll go tell the others." With that, Matsuda was gone, leaving the two young men alone for a few more minutes.

Smiling childishly, L squeezed Light's shoulder comfortingly again. "Good work. I think that it's time that I step back into this case."

"It's good to have you back," Light replied, settling his hand comfortably on L's.

**_October 2, 2004_**

"Are you okay?" Light questioned as he pressed kisses along L's neck.

L just stared at the ceiling, content for the moment to have attention lavished upon him. It was true that he was a little less talkative than usual, but for Light to have picked up on his somber mood so quickly was impressive. Stroking his fingers through the auburn hair he sighed softly. "I'm fine, Light-kun."

"About, Aizawa, I mean. I know that you liked him."

Another impressive deduction. Even though he had admitted his like for the police officer before the afroed man stormed out earlier that day, the others probably weren't sure if he was being honest or just trying to keep a member of the taskforce onboard. "I have no use for someone who isn't in here wholeheartedly."

Leaning up, Light planted a few kisses onto his lips. "Come on; don't tell me that you don't understand his position. He had children years before this case came up. You can't expect him to shirk his prior commitments to his family just because there's some crazy mass murderer out there."

"It's not too much to ask someone to focus on catching the aforementioned criminal so that his children could grow up in a safer world."

"When you have kids of your own, you'll understand," Light sighed. "It's only natural to want to be around your loved ones, to protect and cherish them."

L snickered, rolling to his side and taking the Asian down beside him. "You speak as if you have your own children. Is there something that you'd like to admit now before I engage in coitus with you?"

Light's true laughter was a rare jewel, one that only L was allowed to see. Well, Watari would see it too, but the teen didn't have to know that. Or the fact that all of their naughty activities were being monitored by a 71-year-old man. "No, I don't have any children out there."

"Good."

Rolling over to be on top of the younger of the two, L reached under the blankets and began to finger Light dry. The boy's face twisted up in effort as he tried not to cry out in pleasure. They had both found out quite early on how much he liked having a little pain mixed with the pleasure as well as how vocal he could actually get in bed. Mogi had been concerned that they were beating the crap out of each other. Teasing at the twitching muscles, L began to thrust his tongue into the boy's navel as a foreshadow of things to come. Light groaned in satisfaction and brought his hands to clench the soft dark hair, pushing L deeper against his abdomen.

"H-how about you?" Light managed between gasps.

"Hmm?"

"Children. Do you h-have any?"

Nibbling on the soft flesh around the indentation, L lifted his eyes up to take in the lust-filled look of his captive. "Actually, I do."

"What?" Light shrieked, jumping into a seated position. His face had a decidedly disturbed look plastered all over it. "Who…you?"

L rolled his eyes. "Really, Light-kun, do you think that you're the only one eager to jump into my pants?"

The look Light shot him was a definite YES. "How many?" he asked weakly.

Looking up in thought, L brought his thumb to his lips. "At the moment? About 26."

Light just stared at him. "Ah ha ha. Jerk."

Shrugging, L decided that he didn't need to push things any further. If Light felt that he was lying, then there was no need to correct him. After all, no one in the task force knew anything about Wammy's House or his successors, and that was the best. Should Kira learn of them…well, L just shuddered to think about it. There was no need for his children to be put in danger yet. Only should he die would any of them have to face the horrors of this case.

"Shall we continue?"

"I have half a mind not to," Light mumbled.

L just shook his head. "But you lower half is in control isn't it?"

"Shut up."

The childish grin was back with a vengeance. "Is that the best comeback Light-kun can up with? My skills between the sheets must have improved exponentially for such a splendid result."

"Um, L, my being speechless has nothing to do with your sex skills. It's actually caused by the profusion of stupid things that seem to flow from your mouth. Actually, I think that's impossible for anyone else in this world to be that ridiculous."

L considered the words for a few seconds. "Light-kun, I believe that your logic is faulty-"

"Not this again," Light groaned, rolling his eyes and tossing his slightly mussed hair. "Can we skip the diatribe and get to the sex?"

'_My, my, my, what a different Light-kun this is. It wasn't all that long ago that he was embarrassed of saying "ass", and now he's more than eager to proposition me.' _Deciding that he didn't want to spend any energy on trying to dissect Light's motives at the moment, L began rubbing circles on the younger man's thighs. "I shall acquiesce to your request this time," he muttered before leaning in for a quick kiss. "So long as you refrain from asking ludicrous questions in the middle of the act."

"L, asking if you remembered to lock the door is not a ludicrous question."

"No, but asking if I have children or spouses is."

"Fine, I won't ask about your spouses."

"Thank you for being so considerate."

Before Light could come up with a sharp comeback, L tackled him to the bed and proceeded to reveal how eager his flesh still was.

**_October 7, 2004_**

"I'm Aiber, professional con artist. Nice to meet you."

"Wedy, I'm a thief."

The remaining taskforce stared at the two newcomers with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Soichiro actually broke a sweat. "A con man…and a thief?"

"Yes," L replied nonchalantly. His choice of support was no doubt unusual and probably unethical to some, but he needed people that he trusted. Of course, in order to add a level of protection around them and himself, he lied about never seeing them face to face before. If they had never seen his face before, then Kira would have no reason to use them against him yet.

As L explained a little more about the additions to their team, Light couldn't help but wonder how L had managed to bribe the two criminals to join in such a dangerous case. Since they were seasoned criminals, they had no reason to help the detective out, so the only conclusion would be that they were being bribed. Looking towards his father, the teenager could see the reluctance. It was these kinds of people that his father had spent years trying to catch and hold accountable, and now L was asking him to work alongside them as if it were natural. The others seemed to share the same opinion. Even Aiber and Wedy didn't seem all that please to be in the presence of so many ex-police officers.

Examining the older detective's face, Light knew that he would support L's choice. However unorthodox the situation was, that didn't diminish the fact that they needed this help. Kira needed to be brought down, and with so many legal resources being kept away from them, turning to criminals was the only choice at the moment. It wasn't ideal, but it was a necessary evil.

"I see. These kinds of people will be helpful in investigating Yotsuba," he stated confidently. "Let's all work together and solve this case."

It was like magic. Without having to say anything else, L watched as the task force members welcomed his con man and thief. All it took was a few words from Light, and everyone relaxed; it was almost as if he was a god speaking to his followers and they would blindly and happily obey. Interesting. Light turned a little and shot him a supportive smile as if to say _"See? I did that for you."_

/_/_/_/

"Mello, can I ask you a question?"

Looking up at the smoking brunette, Mello snorted in amusement. "No, Matt, you can't. We're just best friends, don't feel like you can talk freely."

Matt continued as if he didn't notice the snideness. "Do you have hair down _there_?" he asked, glassy eyes staring at the orchards behind Wammy's House.

"Down…there?" the blond chuckled. "No, I don't have pubic hair. That's gross. Why? Are you getting some?"

"No!" he replied a little too quickly before catching himself. "I was just wondering."

"Okay." Letting his tongue drag slowly across a bar of chocolate, Mello scooted closer to his friend. "Wanna lick?" he asked softly.

"N—yes." Matt dropped the cancer stick and carefully reached forward to cup the back of Mello's neck.

Even with those blue eyes shielded behind plastic, the older boy nearly melted under the smoldering gaze directed at him. With his stomach proceeding to tie itself into knots, Mello lifted up the bar of chocolate and placed it directly between their lips. Swallowing thickly, he took the first lick; after all, wasn't he the chocolate lover?

Barely able to remember to breathe, Matt took a quick, tentative lick. Mello took another long lick and the brunette nearly whimpered. He wanted to taste Mello, _needed _to. Taking another lick, Matt timed it so that their tongues would meet at the top.

And touch their tongues did.

The bar of chocolate lay forgotten on the blonde's lap as the two boys deepened their kiss. Mello whimpered happily as Matt stroked his hair with his calloused gamer hands, and Matt felt his face deepen in color as the kiss got more heated. How could anyone be such a good kisser at such a young age, Matt wondered. It was like kissing an angel except that he didn't have to worry about being struck by lightning. Smooth, sun-kissed hands gently stroked the raised scars on Matt's hands, causing the younger boy to tremble excitedly. The taut flesh of his scars had always been sensitive, even more so now because of the fact that he never let them be seen or touched by anyone else.

Already panting heavily, Mello felt the now-familiar urge to pull Matt's pants off and go down on him, but fear of being scolded again and making Matt mad forced him to rein his desires. No matter how wonderful it felt to be held in his best friend's arms and kissing like there was no tomorrow, Mello couldn't move forward until he understood what Matt wanted. It had always been the brunette who pulled away first, who would put up a wall, who would keep them apart. It was confusing and it hurt him.

This would have been a lot simpler, in Mello's opinion, if Matt liked him the same way that he liked Matt.

**_October 8, 2004_**

"Stupid Matsuda."

"Are you still going on about that, Ryuzaki?" Light brushed his sweaty bangs back as he stared at L's tattooed back. It was a marvelous piece of work, but he had never asked if there was some kind of significance to it. L never showed it off much, and being the one to bottom in this relationship didn't exactly offer him ample time or opportunity to study it.

"Light-kun, I don't play the part of an actor, much less an ambulance worker in a ridiculous get-up which includes extremely uncomfortable boots."

"You're just pouting because you actually had to wear socks."

"Of course. The fact that Matsuda nearly blew our entire investigation and then nearly got murdered has nothing to do with my pouting." Straightening his back out, several bones in popped loudly before he resumed his more comfortable slouch.

Sitting up to join his lover, Light looked over at the older man's face. It was set in an irritated frown with a slight glare that promised a lot of extra menial tasks for poor Matsuda. "At least he got some great information out of it."

"Yay."

Wrapping his arm around L's bare neck, Light pulled him into a hesitant kiss. However, what little resistance was put up at the beginning was quickly forgotten. A warm feeling swelled in the young man's chest as L nipped at his lips and stroked the insides of his cheeks just the way he liked it with an unbelievably agile tongue. This feeling had become more and more noticeable since he had that ridiculous fist-fight with the detective, and as much as it frightened him, it comforted him. Kira could not feel this way towards someone else, it was impossible. Kira could not know friendship, could not understand love. Hissing softly as those sugar-glazed fingers brushed against his already sensitive and bruised nipples, Light allowed the feelings to swallow his senses. He didn't need to think or calculate in bed with this man; he didn't need to lie or paste on a façade. It was real to him, the most real thing in his entire life.

Cracking his eyes open, L stared at the smooth features of Light's face. There was no such a thing as an imperfection, even from such a close distance. Well, there was a slight bruise on his cheek-bone from last night's passionate sex when the not-so-smart Asian bowed his face in pleasure and became intimate with the solid oak headboard, but that didn't really count as an imperfection. Sliding his gaze towards the windowsill where one of the thirteen cameras was hidden, L had to wonder if Watari understood now.

"_Do you see what I'm doing? Do you understand?"_

/_/_/_/

Quillsh watched the surveillance footage with tired, bloodshot eyes. He could see L looking at him, questioning. Did he understand what L was doing? Yes. Did he agree? He bloody hell did not. Running his arthritic hands through his well-kept but thinning hair, the elderly gentleman couldn't help but think of how much the young detective looked like his mother. Katrina, dearest Katrina. Not that he was _trying _to compare sex skills and mannerisms between L and his mother, but Quillsh had to admit that they were similar. Although the boy hadn't been gifted with the natural grace and fluidity of movement that Katrina had, his strength, resilience, and intuition for what would make his partner reel in pleasure were nearly identical.

"It is like you had a clone of yourself in a male body," he murmured to himself. "Where are my genes in there? He could have at least had some natural propriety. Well, at least he can't get pregnant, and neither can that…boy."

The fact that L was sleeping with someone seven years his junior bothered the older man, but he had to remember that there had been quite an age difference between himself and Katrina. But…why did he keep finding himself thinking about the two of them in terms of "lovers", "partners", and "together"? There might be some physical attraction at play, but L was engaging in sexual intercourse strictly to break into Light's mind. It was a dirty trick, one no doubt suggested by his mother's reputation.

"It's Yagami-kun's fault," he found himself realizing. Looking more closely at L's hollow expression, Quillsh felt concern suffocating him. There was no sense of deception about the boy, no slip of a tongue or slip of a carefully placed mask. His cries of passion, his kisses, his affectionate touches and glances were startlingly pure, something that L could not compete with. "The boy is either playing a very clever game, or he is tearing L apart completely unconsciously."

And as much as he wanted to say that it was all a ruse, a well-conceived trick to get L's real name, there was no basis for it. This relationship wasn't going to last much longer; something was going to give.

**_October 13, 2004_**

Waking up to the coldness of the large empty bed, Light groaned softly as he tried to kick-start his brain into something functioning. L was seated on his customary chair, naked except for a pair of unusually plain boxers. They were such a pale blue it was almost white; in fact, it probably had been white before being washed along with a pair of those baggy jeans.

"Morning," he yawned, groaning in pain as blood rushed to his sleeping arm. The darn chain had cut off his blood supply again. The heavy feeling limb was soon itching with the sharp needle pokes of nerves reviving.

L blinked slowly before turned his attention to Light. "Good morning, Light-kun. You're up early. Was I keeping you awake?"

Raising his eyebrow, Light noted that the clock read 2:57. "No, you didn't do anything. I guess my arm's lack of blood woke me up."

"I won't take off the chain, you know."

"I know that," Light snapped, inexplicably irritated. Why did L do that? Still acting like he was going to run off and commit mass murder if he wasn't chained down. Even if the chain was removed, Light was sure that he would stay close to L's side. He was there because he wanted to be. Damn it, he was making love with this childish, stupid, ridiculous, heartless detective! Why couldn't L at least pretend like he wasn't trying to get Light the death penalty? "I wasn't going to ask you to do that. I was simply stating a fact."

L noticed the anger rising in the boy and he felt a wave of weariness. He had managed to wound Light's pride only seconds of his waking up. It was almost a record time. "I was merely stating a fact as well, Light-kun. It was you who jumped to the conclusion that I was insinuating that you were going to lead up to asking me to remove the chain."

"Well, it was an _ill-timed _statement of fact," Light growled. He wasn't going to take the bait and engage in a debate in why he was Kira and guilty of murdering thousands of people.

"Forgive me."

"I have half a mind not to," the Asian muttered. L shrugged, not looking the slightest bit bothered. Sighing, Light leaned back against his pillow and stared at the empty spot next to him. L would never sleep the whole night in bed with him and most of the time he would crawl to his perch on the overly stuffed armchair as soon as they were finished with their showers. "I'll…I'll forgive you if he crawl in here with me."

L tilted his head in surprise. Light was giving him an extremely childish proposition. The fact that there was a burning red blush on the Asian boy's cheeks informed L that Light knew how juvenile he sounded. However, his caramel eyes remained firm and his lips were set in a determined line. He wasn't going to back down. Even more surprising was that L didn't feel like refusing the request. It had been years since he had been forced to sleep next to anyone (and that time ended in him getting peed on). At least he could be comforted in the fact that Light was not a bed-wetter.

Without saying a word, he slid off of his comfortable seat and slipped under the covers next to the brunette. It was uncomfortably warm and the heavy blankets gave a sense of smothering, but he forced himself to get settled in. It would only be a few more hours before they would return to work.

"You're forgiven," Light mumbled, his shapely arms wrapping around L's waist as he drew their bodies together.

"I can live the rest of my life in peace, comforted by the fact that Light-kun has forgiven me."

"Don't ruin this."

"Very well."

Light pressed his ear against L's thin but firm chest and listened for the beating of a heart. Sure enough, in only moments he could hear the soft yet consistent pumping. Looking up into the ghost-like face of his lover, Light decided to ask the question that had been nagging him for a while. "Ryuzaki, why do you have a tattoo of a shinigami on your back?"

Blinking slowly, L allowed all kinds of reasons and excuses flash across his mental plane. Should he be honest? Would that be giving Kira a peek into his mind, his past? Is it possible that this was nothing more than an honest question? Chuckling humorlessly, L relived the moments of seeing Beyond for the last time. "Let's save that for another time, Light-kun."

A shudder raced down the Asian's back as he noticed the pained expression behind L's smile. So, even the great detective L could feel pain.

"L?"

"Let's get some rest. There is more preparation to be done before the Yotsuba group holds their meeting on Friday."

**_October 27, 2004_**

Shuffling through a deck of cards, Near watched the children interacting in front of him. The recent increase in schoolwork was stressing everyone out, especially Mello. He had caught the blond on numerous occasions, studying relentlessly on the library computer with thick books stacked all around him. Glancing over at the unhealthily thin teen, the white-haired boy found himself wondering how all of them had managed to grow up so quickly. When did Mello's features turn from inviting curves to intimidating angles? When did Matt's chin first start to show signs of stubble? When did Linda first realize that her growing bosom was an asset to get affection from the opposite sex?

But most importantly, why was he the only one who hadn't changed?

Looking down at his hands, Near was disturbed to see the small, delicate, and child-like fingers protruding from the soft lump of a palm. He was still more fat than toned muscles, he had no facial hair, and not even a trace of pubic hair. For crying out loud, he didn't even have _armpit hair _to speak of. It was as if time forgot that he even existed. Looking at the other thirteen-year-olds, he couldn't help but notice the differences.

It's not that he didn't understand that different people reached went through puberty differently; just looking at Mello and Matt would quell such thinking. Thirteen-year-old boys didn't necessarily have pubic hair, and most facial hair didn't come until the later stages of puberty. However, not many teenage boys still looked like a seven-year-old. He hadn't even grown an inch since moving to Wammy's House. And it wasn't like he didn't eat a nutritious meal three times a day and drink plenty of fluids.

Looking back up at Matt, Near felt a twinge of jealousy. He was not only the only person in the House who didn't bother studying or stressing about the extra work, but he was also becoming disturbingly popular with both sexes. Girls were starting to notice how tall he was getting, and they were often heard talking about his "sexy, long legs". Although he wasn't dressing to impress anything other than his Gameboy, it was impossible to deny that he was filling out his thin jeans nicely. Disturbingly, Near had even heard girls talking about "Matt's cute butt". Even his deepening voice was noticed and discussed. Now, Matt's popularity with the boys rarely came in the form of compliments on the shape of his rear end or how "manly" his voice was; instead, the brunette had become an object of disdain and almost hatred. Near was not the only one to succumb to feelings of jealousy.

Most importantly, the general dislike and animosity towards the fourteen-year-old Pokémon addict revolved around the fact that he had Mello wrapped around his finger. If there was one person at Wammy's House worshipped to an L-like degree, it was Mello. He wasn't a typical "bad boy" that was prevalently admired by tweens and adults alike. He wasn't even the "nice guy" that girls wanted to marry and boys wanted to beat up.

As per usual, Mello defined normal labels and still gained the admiration and respect of everyone in the institution. His voice hadn't deepened and he didn't have any bodily hair growth, but all of that only added to his strikingly European beauty. He was lean, sharp-featured, with the most unusual eye colors. Yes, Mello's eyes had _colors_. It could never be pinned down to a specific blue or green and was the discussion of many a student and instructor. However, unlike the appreciation given to Matt for his physical features, the respect that Mello received went much deeper. This year marked the seventh year that Mello had managed to keep hold of his title as the Fastest Runner in the House, and he was the unquestionable Champion of Football. He also had years of being ranked number one under his belt, and years of being ranked number two as well. No one could beat him at socializing and befriending others and yet at the same time hold such a frightening and unapproachable reputation. Mello was dynamic, always changing his mind and yet he was consistent in being the best.

The best at everything save one thing. Near smiled softly as he had his Ken doll murdering his Misa-Misa doll in a rage of passion. Misa-Misa had been cheating on Ken, obviously. The only thing that Near could claim as an advantage, and the sole reason that anyone paid any attention to him was that he could consistently beat Mello intellectually. People didn't hate him for beating Mello because that always promised to provide the residents with drama, with their own personal soap opera, but Matt didn't have that advantage. Many of the students didn't appreciate the fact that Matt was the only known person to have ever made Mello cry or that Mello had chosen Matt as his confidant over everyone else.

It was as if everyone believed that they had a claim on Mello. Near was no exception. Mello was _his_ and he didn't take kindly to anyone else who disregarded the rules and tried to be more to the blond. It was a strange dynamic, and one that Near found most interesting. It was an unwritten rule that no one cut throats over Mello's attention because that privilege belonged to L alone. The race to become the next L was a vicious and brutal competition that had broken many children, but that wasn't allowed with Mello.

"Yet," he whispered to Ken as his small fingers orchestrated Misa-Misa's burial under inconspicuous seat cushions.

Looking back up at the destructive duo, Near struggled to keep his expression stoic. Matt was grinning stupidly and smearing chocolate frosting across Mello's cheeks and lips. The blond had an expression of irritation and his lips were curled into a scowl, but the emotion in his eyes was anything but hostile. Sharp white teeth snapped and caught Matt's gloved finger in a threatening manner, but Matt just laughed and lightheartedly begged Mello to have mercy and leave his finger attached to his hand. Mello "punished" him by forcing the brunette to lick the chocolate off of his cheek.

A few girls giggled softly as they looked up from their study notes. "That's so hot," Ariel stated, not seeming to care that Near was close enough to overhear everything.

"I could totally touch myself to that," Valencia added. Near almost gagged at the image that flashed across his mind.

"Do you think that they would make-out if I dared them?"

Staring unamusedly at the two boys being talked about, Near wondered if the girls would even need to do such a thing. Matt and Mello already looked like they were going to throw away inhibitions and put on a show of fornication in front of all the children. But Mello, through a surprising display of self-control, resisted the temptation and instead released the offending finger before hitting Matt over the head with a rather thick criminal law book.

Rolling his eyes, the pale boy turned his attention back to his playthings. A stuffed lobster with protruding glass eyes had taken Ken into custody and was now waiting on a report from the fat panda before taking the investigation any further. However, he couldn't help but think that if Mello got sent off before Matt was old enough to leave, the unfortunate brunette would be beat within an inch of his life. Or…something interesting might happen. Fear of Mello being disappointed in them might hold the jealous students back.

Regardless, it was none of his concern. All that mattered was that he kept a step ahead of Mello. Just like Mello was his, he was Mello's. Neither of them could breathe, sleep, or even eat without thinking of the other. They were on each other's mind more than L was. In fact, it was like the race to become the next L had nothing to do with the detective at all. It was a personal battle now, a private war between the two of them. Allowing a smile to form on the face of his inner mind, Near was content with how things were for now.

He may be bitter, petty, and jealous, but he had a relationship with Mello that no one came close to. Not even L.

**_October 27, 2004_**

"Tomorrow we catch Kira." Rubbing the worn skin of his wrist, Light looked over at L in excitement. Once this Kira was caught, they could finally progress further in this case and prove his innocence!

Sitting on the edge of the bed in thoughtful contemplation, it almost seemed like L hadn't heard what he said. Before Light could repeat his statement, the dark owl-like eyes looked up and a neutral expression appeared on his face. "Yes, if everything goes according to plan."

"Come on, don't be negative now. You should be excited!" Falling on his back, Light allowed the cool sheets to comfort his heated skin. There had been so much work to do to prepare for the trap tomorrow, and now they would get a few hours of rest before the action would start all over again.

"Shall we skip on the sex and just sleep?"

Wrinkling his brow in confusion and worry, Light leaned on his elbow and tried to read L's expression more carefully. "Ryuzaki? What's wrong?"

What expression had been on his face was immediately wiped away and L looked back at the young Asian. "Nothing Light-kun. I was merely concerned for your health. I've kept you up late recently."

Feeling an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, Light forced a smile and slipped his hand into the detective's. L adjusted the grip so that only the tips of his fingers would hold the warm hand. "Let's have a nice and slow round, okay? That way it won't exert either of us too much. Do you think you can handle it?"

"I'm not old enough to worry about not being able to 'handle it' Light-kun."

"Just checking."

It was painful, L decided as he and Light performed their nightly ritual. Taking things so slowly, becoming hyper-aware of every little feeling, of that arched back, and clenched eyes. His nails dug into the boy's soft hips, and his own eyes clenched shut as he tried to block those images from his mind. Wrong, what he was doing was wrong. Engaging in such a tricky relationship with Light had done nothing to move the case forward. In fact, it had done nothing at all but add another searing scar across his emotional landscape. A feeling mostly unknown to him had reared its ugly head.

Guilt.

Each open and honest cry of pleasure was a stab. It was almost amusing how ironic the situation seemed. Instead of Light being the one to lie and scheme, it was now L. But he couldn't fold, couldn't show a moment of weakness. Light _was _Kira! This boy who submitted himself to such carnal intimacies was responsible for the deaths of thousands.

The proof! Where was the proof? Why hadn't he been able to find anything incriminating yet? How had the suspect managed to keep such an important piece of the puzzle hidden? When did L become the criminal? No, there was no crime being committed. There was only a gamble being taken.

"L!" Light wailed, his muscles trembling from the orgasm. "Oooh, L…"

Grabbing a tissue, L pulled his engorged flesh out of the quivering body and stroked himself to completion. Biting his lip, he quenched the desperate desire to reveal his own pleasure with an uninhibited cry.

Looking up at the impeccably clean ceiling, Light forced himself not to submit to the wave of emotions threatening to send him into a wreck. He would not be stupid and dwell on the reasons for L's strange behavior. The detective had always been bizarre and it was foolish to think that the behavior wouldn't carry over into his sex life. Maybe he was just tired, and eager to move past this case. But did that mean…

What would happen to this relationship when everything was over? When Kira was caught, would this contentment end and remain forgotten in the back of their memories?

Dropping the crumpled tissue, L stared as his untouched box of truffles. Even the idea of eating sugar couldn't comfort him at the moment. What would happen tomorrow? Would Kira truly be caught? And what would happen to this lie of a relationship? Would he throw away Light like he threw emotions away?

One time. He could indulge himself one time. Slowly leaning over the heaving body, L pressed his lips against the panting mouth. For once, he could pretend that it was real, that he actually knew what being in love felt like. He could push away the calculations and the analysis. It was impossible to open up, but L could pretend that he had nothing to hide and that his motives were just at pure at Light's seemingly were.

L could let go just once.

**_October 28, 2004_**

"Ahhhhh!"

Turning his head in shock at the outcry, L was concerned to see Light's reaction to touching the notebook. More than terror was etched into his features as his entire body stiffened up. "Are you okay?" he asked as Light slumped forward. "Anyone would be surprised by a monster like that…"

It was more than a monster. Memories were shoved into his brain almost painfully, one after another, a complete blur. Death, murder, suspicions, quick thinking, and…

"Writing someone's name in this kills them? Can you believe that?"

"Huh?" Light's voice sounded a bit strained, and L felt himself wondering if the brunette was going to be okay. "It is hard to believe but we can't exactly test it, right? Right, Yagami-san?"

"Of course not, Ryuzaki," Soichiro agreed.

"No choice then. For now, we'll just have to question Higuchi and that monster…that Shinigami…right?"

"Ryuzaki, I'll compare the names written here to the names of the victims," Light suggested, his body still facing away from the older detective and the sharpshooting old man in the back of the helicopter.

"Huh? Yes, good idea." Something wasn't right. There was a strange feeling in the air, and Goosebumps rose on his flesh. How could someone who was screaming in such terror a moment ago be unnaturally calm and helpful?

"_I've won." _The smile on his face could not be controlled, his eyes narrowed in cruel delight. _"Exactly as planned!" _Kira would win; L didn't have a chance anymore.

**_October 31, 2004_**

Splashing his face with cold water, Light looked up into his reflection and scowled. When he had spent weeks planning to clear himself of suspicion by giving up the Death Note for a few _short _months, this had definitely not been a part of his scheme. No, turning gay for L was definitely not part of the script. Looking down at his nude stomach, the young Asian sighed heavily as he examined the remaining marks from sex. Really, love bites on his stomach? And even more disturbing to his perfect god-like mind was the fact that he had allowed himself to bottom to that narcissistic detective.

He, Kira, taking it up the ass for his worst enemy. Wonderful. And not the least bit sexy.

'_This isn't a total loss,' _Light thought to himself as he mussed his hair into something attractive to the sugar addict in the bedroom. _'I have managed to force myself into a very delicate portion of L's psyche. He's socially retarded and probably doesn't have any experience with love except for being in love with me.' _A particularly strong memory flashed through his mind, nearly doubling him over with its intensity. L above him, kissing him too softly, too intimately. It was real. Smiling coyishly at his reflection, Light went over his options. If he played his cards right, learning L's name would be simple enough. Easy? No; but straightforward enough.

However, he had to take something else into consideration. What if L was playing the same kind of game? Up to this point, there had been nothing at stake. With the memories of Kira gone, there had been no way he could incriminate himself, but now that those memories were back. One wrong move, one slip of the tongue, and everything would be over for him. A confident smirk curled on his moisturized lips. He would win.

Stepping out of the bathroom clothed in nothing but his pride, Light felt his cock swell to life at the scene in front of him. Bloody tendrils of sunlight burned through the window with an intensity that belonged distinctly to the sunset. Violets and pinks stained the sky with their sensual and broken colors, but more striking than the beauty unveiled by Nature, was L.

The wiry body was leaning against the clean window pane with his right hand and elbow supporting all the weight and his left foot trembling slightly to keep balance as the right foot rested limply, crossed at the ankles. From that angle, the sanguine beams of light slashed across the paper skin, desperately trying to curl around the curves of flesh and bones, even as the dark hooded creature etched into the skin laughed in derision. Tattoos had never particularly attracted Light before, but the Grim Reaper on L's back was a beautiful work of art, a stamp that marked the detective for certain death.

Wrapping his toned arms around the thin waist, Light allowed himself to press a kiss against the tip of the scythe. "Beautiful."

L looked over his shoulder with an amused grin. "Why, thank you Light-kun." They were finally playing on equal terms again. He no longer had to indulge in guilt.

/_/_/_/

Breaking a pencil in irritation, Mello stared at the complicated words on the page. There were three columns, each not only in a different language, but also containing different subject materials. French law, Egyptian law, and Chinese law. It was practically impossible to memorize the entire law book, but he was expected to do more than that. Tomorrow they would be given a one-question test.

They would be given a scenario and would have to write a plan of action with considerations to American, British, French, Spaniard, German, Egyptian, Chinese, Japanese, and Australian law. Each country would have its own plan of action report including analysis of the presented suspects, deductions from the crime scene and available reports, obstacles the regional law would provide, limitations of the authorities, the degree of help from the police required, any statistical tests that needed to be run, and anything else that might be needed to solve the case.

It would probably take most of the students all day to complete even though they were allowed a computer to type on rather than writing things longhand. However, the most challenging aspect of the test didn't necessarily have to do with the length, but rather had to do with one small detail. He would not be allowed to use any resources for the duration of the test. Not even a thesaurus.

The migraine that had been his constant companion for the past few weeks had built up to a deafening roar, and he wouldn't be able to study another thing without some heavy medication. Glancing over to see if Matt wanted to walk to the infirmary with him, a sudden, mind-numbing desire to commit murder nearly overtook him.

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"The same thing I've been doing for the past twelve hours."

That was _it_. Jumping to his feet, Mello launched himself on the brunette and began to punch anything he could reach. "Damn it, Matt, are you mocking me? Are you just _trying _to piss me off?"

Laughter bubbled up from the assaulted boy as his friend continued to inflict faux-pain. Mello wasn't punching to hurt, Matt knew, or he would be weeping in agony; no, this was just Mello relieving stress by pretending to knock the lights out of his intended victim. "I'm just studying in my own way," he defended between unmanly giggles.

"Playing your stupid Pokémon game isn't studying!"

Taking hold of Mello's hands, Matt tugged the boy down on the bed with him. "Come on Mels, to each his own. Hey, maybe you need to take a break; you're not looking so good." A frown tugged at the corners of his lips as he took in the sight of his friend. Mello was looking a bit pale, darkened bags were making an appearance under his eyes, his hair was dull and pulled back in a messy ponytail, and deep wrinkles seemed etched on the usually smooth forehead. This Mello was exhausted.

Mello shrugged and stared at some spot above Matt's head. "Wanna come to the infirmary with me? I need some migraine medication."

Nodding, Matt slipped out of his bed and followed his friend. At times like these, he got worried about Mello. Yes, there was some highly difficult and super stupid test tomorrow, but he wasn't going to stress himself out studying for it. There was more to life than wasting time preparing for a "what if" situation. When it came time to take the test, all he had to do was use a little guessing and logic and come up with a concise 10 page reply. Mello's problem was that he could not constrain himself to "short and sweet". He needed to be grand and comprehensive, covering all possible angles and details; he needed to prove just how smart he was. It was stupid, really. If Mello would just listen to reason, he would realize that the more you wrote, the higher your chances were of making a mistake, and any mistake would cost him. Another reason Mello would undoubtedly make a mistake was the punishment he subjected his body to. In the blonde's opinion, three hours of sleep was too much, two meals of the day were optional, and free time meant that he wasn't studying hard enough. How could anyone expect to do their best mentally when they didn't even have it all together physically?

Entering the infirmary, Matt wasn't surprised to see a host of Wammy kids already in line. Stress-induced ulcers, intestinal discomfort, twitching, spasms, flues, migraines, and insomnia were common right before ranking tests. This time was no different. Looking around as he took a seat next to his friend, a thought slapped him hard across the face. Nearly all of the children here were his age or younger. It was a startling and sobering thought to realize that in less than two years he would be allowed to leave the orphanage. How had time managed to slip by so fast? It seemed only yesterday that he was being dragged out to play a football game with the older boys.

Wait, when did he start calling soccer, football? When had he lost his New York accent and replaced it with the uptight and snappish British? When had his legs gotten so long, or his goggles so tight? Hadn't he been struggling to keep them over his eyes only last week?

"When did we grow up, Mello?" he asked, confused with the deepened voice that came out.

"Matt, you're 14. You're not grown up."

"I'm almost 15."

"Still not good enough."

"You know what I mean."

Sighing, Mello looked up from his hands and gave the brunette a hard, long stare. "Matt, everyone grows up. We've been doing it every day of our lives."

Glancing around the room again, the brunette felt a little more unsettled. "When did Chase leave? And Amos, Joseph, Toby, Gena, and Evan? When did X, Y, and Z leave?"

"Shhh, Matt, calm down." Melllo's glare was enough to scare the others back to minding their own businesses. "Look, it doesn't matter when they left or when the new kids came. We're here and there's a ranking test tomorrow; that's what you should be worried about."

Biting back more questions, Matt resigned himself to the fact that Mello's mind couldn't spend enough attention to him to have a meaningful conversation. Anything more than "you're the smartest and the bestest" would be met with the same default reply: "We have a ranking test tomorrow, so worry about that." What a friend.

"Can we talk about it after the test?"

Mello shrugged. "Sure, we can talk about it after the test."

**_November 4, 2004_**

The sound of the door sliding open surprised Wammy. No one but L knew about this room and the detective hadn't spoken to him outside from the case in months. Turning in his swivel chair, Quillsh looked up into the drawn face of the world's three greatest detectives.

"What seems to be the trouble, Ryuzaki?" The young man continued to stare at the ground, his wide owlish eyes muddled with a cacophony thoughts and emotions. He turned to stare more fully at the young man. "What's wrong?"

* * *

"_Willish?" The young child looked up at the wizened man with concern and an almost sorrowful expression._

"_What's wrong?" Quillsh asked as he squatted next to the toddler seated at a plastic table with an aluminum tea party set. _

_The boy held out his sugar bowl. "It's empty."_

_

* * *

_"I'm…sorry."

All kinds of warnings flashed through Mr. Wammy's mind at the utterance of those two small words. "Here, here, what are you talking about?"

His expression never wavered. "You've always told me to apologize when I do something wrong or when I hurt someone's feelings."

"I've told you that for years, so why would you choose to listen now?"

Looking up from his feet, L's eyes went towards the computer screens with surveillance footage playing. "I've hurt you, my old friend. I've used you and your resources without thanks. I've discourteously stolen years of your life for my own purposes. I've been a burden and a brat. I disregarded your direct command to not engage in physical intimacy with Light Yagami."

Quillsh's eyes softened. "Not considering the facts that I've never considered you a burden and that my years helping you have been the most fulfilling of my life, you still haven't answered my question. Why now?"

L shuffled closer to his mentor. "Watari, I'm going to force Kira's hand." The words were spoken with a kind of faraway tone, as if his mind was elsewhere. "I hope to survive and thus catch him, but I can't ignore that my chances are slim."

A heavy stillness spread through the air and the older gentleman stared at L standing before him. There was no fear in that hunched figure, only a certain reservation, a certain air of disbelief. He could not deny that there were mixed feelings fluttering through his own heart. This was the boy he had raised, the most perfect human in all of creation, the pinnacle of mankind. This was…his son. "I assume that you want me to prepare for your death?"

"Make sure to contact Roger one more time before tomorrow. Also, set up my systems to download all of the files on this case to the Roger's computer with the label 'Successor' on them. Don't forget to check up on the reservations for my gravesite. Oh, and if I should die, get a ticket for England immediately and hide out at Wammy's House. There's no need to put yourself at anymore risk; besides, you would serve my successor better."

It was surreal to be speaking so casually of death. "What about a successor? Do you want me to send your final decision along with the files of the Kira case?"

"No." Smiling a little as he stroked his lower lip, L shook his head. "There's no need to. If I were to chose a successor, then the one not chose would have no reason to work on the Kira case as well and Kira would never be caught. There isn't enough time to fully train either of them and there's no way that they'll be able to outsmart Light by themselves."

"They'll have your information, L, as well as my expertise."

"That's not enough." He was looking past the screens, his voice faraway again. "It's impossible for either of them to surpass me; the only chance mankind has is if they work together. Mello will undoubtedly resign from being my successor and will go after Kira on his own. Near will take my position and resources. By doing this, the two of them will be tackling the case from two different points of view and Light won't know what hit him when they make their move. I only wish that we had a little more time to prepare them…"

Watari felt a swelling of pride. Even in the face of his possible death, L was thinking hundreds of moves ahead. "But only if you die. If you live, the case will be over. Then we can go home and have a cup of Roger's excellent Earl Grey before moving on to the next one."

"Make sure that Mello doesn't get too crazy when he goes out on his own. Keep an eye on him at all times, and make sure to give him all the resources he'll need."

"Very good, sir."

"Goodbye." L turned on his heel abruptly, as if remembering that there was someplace that he was needed. "Oh, don't forget to make sure that Wedy and Aiber get out safely as well. They've helped me more than enough."

"Goodbye…L."

The door slid shut with just as much force as usual, but it sent shivers down Quillsh's back. It was the sound of a falling guillotine.

**_November 5, 2004_**

"What's going on? The criminals are being killed again?"

"All at once," Matsuda added in shock.

"Sixteen just last night," Aizawa informed the rest of the taskforce as he typed frantically, "all the people shown on TV since Higuchi's death."

L glanced over at Light's frustrated expression. "Kira, damn it!" the boy muttered as he stared at the list of deaths scrolling on the screen.

"So, as we suspected, Higuchi wasn't Kira," Soichiro concluded.

"No, Dad, it's accurate that Higuchi was killing the criminals up to the time he was caught."

Aizawa turned to face the young Asian. "So then, another Kira has appeared?"

"Ahhhh!" Matsuda cried in frustration. "Why?"

Another panda cookie made its way into Ryuzaki's ruthless mouth.

"But," Light started, "this makes it clear that there really is another notebook out there. Right Rem?"

The Shinigami looked uncertainly at Light. "Must be. A Shinigami wouldn't go out of his way to kill only criminals."

"This happened as soon as Misa was freed, didn't it?"

"Ryuzaki, are you still saying that? Misa is _not _involved. The killings started as soon as Higuchi died."

Another panda met its doom. "That's true, Yagami-kun. Well, if there is another notebook and someone is using it, I'll catch him." As if to prove his point, the detective bit off the head of another panda cookie.

Kira could see the wheels turning in L's head as he tried to solve the unsolvable puzzle. He had combined halves from two puzzles and they could not fit together, but L would keep on trying. However, sooner or later he was going to realize that those pieces weren't from the same picture. If he figured that out…

"Ryuzaki, even if we do catch the person who was writing in the notebook, can we really convict and punish him as a serial killer?" Light asked a little doubtfully.

"Well, of course!" Matsuda chimed in. "He wrote countless names knowing that people would die. We should execute him in secret if we don't want the existence of the notebook to go public." The young officer was almost red in the face with the conviction of his words.

Aizawa shook his head. "Killing him is harsh, but I bet that's what our superiors would demand."

No one noticed the horrified expression on Rem's face as the conversation carried on.

"If he admits to killing with the notebook, he would receive the death penalty." L spoke with an almost nonchalant tone. "Or at least life-sentence. Yes, something like that, but there's no point in thinking about it now."

Barely turning his head, Kira threw Rem a challenging glance. '_What will you do?' _

/_/_/_/

Rain was whipping through the air like icy little whips. Even though he had come up in search of Ryuzaki, Light was still surprised to find the older man standing in the midst of the torrent. They were on top of an extremely tall building, for goodness's sake, and there was no guarantee that even if a lightning bolt hit the lightning rod they would be unscathed. Rain drops streamed down the man's pale face.

"What are you doing there, Ryuzaki?" he called out. The detective tilted his head slightly and then cupped his hand behind his ear as if he hadn't been able to hear Light's voice through the rain. Taking a deep breath, Light called out louder this time. "What are you doing there Ryuzaki?" With a mischievous smile, L only leaned a little closer, still indicating that he could not hear over the rain. _'Damn brat,' _he thought before stepping out into the frigid rain. The wind was brutal, throwing the rain around carelessly and soaking him through in a matter of seconds. "What are you doing, Ryuzaki?" he asked as soon as he got close to the detective.

The mischievous smile was gone, and L seemed to be focused on the swelling puddle near his foot. "Well, I'm not doing anything in particular, but…" L looked up towards the distance, not seeming to mind the stinging rain. "The sound of bells…" he mumbled absentmindedly.

"Bells?"

"Yes," L replied, only sparing Light a brief glance. "The bells have been really noisy throughout the day."

Light strained his ears for a moment, trying to hear anything other than the white noise of the downpour. "I don't hear anything."

"Really?" the detective seemed genuinely surprised. "They've been ringing all day, and I can't help but feel curious. Do you suppose it's a church—a wedding? Or perhaps…"

"What are you talking about Ryuzaki?" Light interrupted. He didn't really like the somber tone L had taken to. "Don't say silly things. Now, let's go back inside."

L looked away from the Asian boy. "I'm sorry. Everything that I say is nonsense, so please don't believe any of it."

Light's expression softened as he continued to take in the sight of L sopping wet. His downcast eyes seemed even more lifeless than usual, and the grey skies did nothing for the detective's pale complexion. Rain water swelled inside of wild clumps of hair before falling heavily to the roof. The urge to comfort the strangely solemn man swelled. "That's right, Ryuzaki. Most of what you say _is _nonsense. There would be no end if I took you seriously all the time." L was looking at him again, seeking that comfort. "I know that the best. We've been roommates long enough for me to know that."

Just roommates.

"Yes, that's right, Light-kun." His voice was as chilling as the rain. "But, it's true for the both of us."

"What do you mean?"

A weary and gentle smile rose on L's lips as he looked directly into Light's eyes. "Have you ever told the truth at any point since you were born?"

For a moment, it seemed like all sound had vanished. There was no punishing rain, there was no wind, no bells. Existence had been narrowed down to the two of them, feeling and pushing. Staring. Analyzing.

"What are you talking about Ryuzaki? It's true that I lie once in a while, but how many people live their entire lives only telling the truth?" There was that rain again. "Humans aren't made perfectly; everybody lies. Even so, I've been careful not to tell lies that hurt others. That's my answer."

A look of resignation crossed L's face this time; never had Light seen so many emotions and so clearly. "I thought you'd say that." It was a final sentence, a point of no return. There was no more hope, foolish hope. "Let's go back; we're drenched."

"Yeah," Light replied, somehow feeling that he said something wrong. He had just made a mistake, and he couldn't take it back.

Several minutes later found Light sitting on the stairway, rubbing his hair with a fluffy white towel. L walked over slowly, his tattered tennis shoes squeaking with water. "Well, that was awful!" he said cheerily.

"It's your fault," Light retorted as he tried to get his hair dried. "You were standing in that rain."

"You're right. Sorry." Slipping the towel off of his own head, L shuffled down the stairs until he was at Light's feet. Promptly, he sat on his heels and lifted up one of Light's perfectly shaped feet.

Light started in surprise. "What are you doing Ryuzaki?"

"I thought I'd help you," he replied so innocently. Something was off with this L; he was too calm, too open, too…

_Honest._

"You don't have to do that."

"I can give you a massage as well," L pushed. "It's the least I can do to atone for getting you so wet, Light-kun. I'm actually pretty good at this."

His heart was pounding, but he had to act unaffected and a little irritated. "Fine. Do what you want."

"All right."

Concentration smoothed over L's features as he focused on the wet foot in his hands. His bony fingers clenched the lavender-smelling towel and gently brushed the flawless heel and arch. Light's foot twitched and the boy stifled a gasp. Was it surprise or pleasure?

"H-hey," Light began to protest.

"You'll get used to it," L whispered, his fingers urging the cloth to drag across more skin.

Just as his foot was getting warm and dry from the gentle strokes, something cold fell against his skin, causing him to start once more. Glancing down, he noticed how wet L still was. Droplets of water were still dripping from the tips of his raven hair, and yet he didn't seem to notice. His hands kept the towel moving, those long bony digits adding pressure to certain points on his foot. Grabbing his own towel, Light leaned forward and began to stroke strands of L's hair dry.

"You're still wet," he whispered softly.

L briefly looked up, the foreign expression of sadness heavy in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

His hands took hold of Light's other foot, repeating the same motions. The smothering feeling was swelling inside of the younger man. He couldn't even look at L as he felt those sensual hands playing across his skin. The towel would slide, bringing heat with its friction, only to be soothed into a comfortable warmth with gentle pressure. L was right; he was good at giving foot massages. It almost seemed as if time was frozen. In the cavernous stairway, each was making an impossible wish.

_Don't let this end._

"How sad," L muttered, his voice slightly strained.

"What?"

Through the wet and disheveled bangs, a dark eye peeked out with so much expression that the young brunette wondered if he was seeing things. "We'll soon part."

He didn't want to hear that, not from L, not from those lips. It was hurting, it was choking. What could he say? Planting a hand on the step between Light's open legs, L leaned forward. Could he do this? Would he have this one last chance? No matter the outcome, this would be over. Never again would he be allowed to touch so freely. Both pairs of lips were trembling, and neither could say if it was from the rain's chill, or from the desperate nerves.

_This wasn't supposed to happen._

Hot hands were groping desperately, bruising lips were clashing. A stairway was digging into vertebrae, but went ignored. The slap of wet clothes being thrown against the stair echoed up and down the hall. Why was it so hard not to cry? Fingernails scraped down to leave their last marks. More, he wanted so much more. _They _wanted more. Chest to chest and panting, it didn't feel like enough. Wasn't there more time? It was cruel, adding a scar to his heart.

Panting.

Sweating.

Clenching.

Kissing.

Wanting.

Arching.

Feeling.

Lo-

A phone rang out. Pausing over Light's body, L seemed to have been snapped back to reality. Another ring. He pulled away, snatching up the phone from his soaked jean pocket.

"Yes?" Light watched L's back as the detective took the call. Panting, he could see it, see the face of the Shinigami. "All right, I'll go immediately." There was no more time, it was grinning, the scythe glinting. Snapping the cellular phone shut, L turned back to the younger boy. "Let's go, Light. It seems it went well."

Slipping on his clothes, L proceeded to shuffle down the steps followed closely by Light.

/_/_/_/

"Oh, Ryuzaki! What's the meaning of this?" Matsuda seemed a bit on edge as if he couldn't decide to be upset or confused. The other taskforce members didn't seem too pleased, Light noticed, as the two of them walked towards the computers. "I heard that you got approval from another country to use the notebook for an execution!"

Hopping onto his seat, L didn't seem the slightest bit disturbed. "Watari, good job."

"My pleasure," the garbled voice replied.

"Let's immediately make arrangements to transport the notebook."

"Yes, sir."

"Ryuzaki, what's the meaning of this?" Light demanded.

Lifting up his stirring spoon, L didn't miss a beat. The ball was rolling now, and he had no time to waste. "It means that I'm going to try out the notebook for real." Everyone in the room gasped in surprise. _'Make your move, Kira.'_

"That's pointless! We don't have to do that!" Aizawa protested. "We already know the power of the notebook is real, don't we?"

"Besides," Matsuda jumped in, "who's going to write the name? Once you write in the notebook, you have to continue writing every thirteen days!"

L was prepared. "The one who's going to write the name is someone who will be executed within thirteen days. If he's still alive after thirteen days, we've made a plea bargain to commute his execution."

"But we can't sacrifice people's lives," Soichiro protested.

"Just a little more!" L insisted, cutting off anymore complaints. "If we just clear this, the case will be solved."

Light flashed before the ungodly crash of thunder shook the building. Straight out of a horror novel, the power in the building failed. Almost immediately, the eerie red of backup lights filled the room with its shadow. There was one shadow missing.

"What's this, a blackout?" Matsuda cried.

L's eyes narrowed as he stared at the screen in front of him. As the computers were struggling to reboot, a crash was heard over the intercom. "What's wrong, Watari?" he questioned, a feeling of dread clenching his stomach. No, the old man must have just fallen out of his chair on the way to turn the lights back on; he was just old and blind and tripped over his chair! "Watari?" His voice shook as he leaned forward as if he could reach through the screen.

Blue-grey eyes focused on the screen as he struggled to keep on his feet for just a moment longer. The pain was excruciating, shooting through his chest and trying to lock up his arm. But he had to do it, he had to warn L. Gasping for air, Quillsh struggled to reach the single button. There were so many things he should have told L, so many things that he should have done for the boy.

_I'm proud of you._

_There will never be another like you._

_You don't have to be a detective if you don't want to._

_I love you…my son._

It was all fading, but he was comforted in the fact that the last things his weary old eyes would see was the face of his child. If only L didn't look so horrified.

Click.

"Watari!"

ALL DATA DELETED.

"Data deletion? What's the meaning of this?" Someone yelled out in confusion.

The panic was palpable, but for L one emotion was even stronger. Rage. Dammit, why didn't he think that Kira would go after Watari, why didn't he protect the older man better! It didn't make sense! Watari was never in the presence of a Kira who could kill just by looking at someone! Light had only seen him once and even then he didn't have access to the notebook. But Misa wasn't being monitored, but that didn't make sense because she had never seen the old man and—

"I told Watari to erase all information in the event that something happened to him," L hissed.

"If something happened?" Aizawa questioned, sweat rolling down his collar.

Really, now was not the time to be stupid! Why couldn't these task force members use their heads? "Where's the Shinigami?" he demanded, looking around. The large grotesque figure was nowhere to be seen."

"Come to think of it, I haven't seen him." Soichiro glanced around frantically. "He's nowhere! What's the meaning of this?"

"Everyone, the Shiniga—"

The pain hit like a bolt of lightning. His head was swimming and he had the sensation of falling. It took him a few seconds to realize that he had indeed fallen. But…Light's arms were around him. There was a voice in the background, but he couldn't really hear the words. Bells were ringing. Light was looking down at him. Light was streaming through stained glass. Voices were speaking. Children were crying. Bells and more bells. There was…

And Kira was smirking down at him. _'I knew it…I wasn't…wrong…but…I…'_

…Gone.

"Ryuzaki? Ryuzaki!"

/_/_/_/

"That hurt, Mello!" Zack yelped, his hand holding his head where the blonde's soccer ball hit him.

"Ha ha!" Mello taunted as he turned on his heel and sprinted across the field. It felt so good to be stretching out his muscles and exerting all of his pent up energy.

It always took over a week to grade the ranking tests, so Mr. Wammy always allowed his children that time to relax and recover from all the stress. Many children were catching up on their sleep, but others were experiencing the fresh air that they'd kept themselves from for the past few weeks.

"Near, why don't you come outside for once?" Linda asked as she headed out with some friends.

"No thank you," he replied as he busily clicked puzzle pieces into place.

"Forget him, Linda," James urged as he pushed the girl towards the front door.

Matt leaned against the warm roof shingles, content to watch the clouds floating by and the leaves swirling around. Smoke from his freshly lit cigarette was snatched up by the dancing wind.

_To be continued..._

* * *

**Author's Notes: Good Oogie Boogie! This took FOREVER to put up! T^T **

**This is by far **_**the **_**hardest thing I've ever had to write. It took months for me to even get enough resolve to write out L's death scene. And as you can probably tell, I still had a hard time with it. I didn't want to kill L, to not write him anymore. Even worse was that I felt that he did a lot of changing in this chapter, and I didn't really get to write him how I liked best: the snarky and bratty detective. He went a little emo there at the end…**

**As for Light, I was so worried that he was getting OOC, especially with the explorations into his feelings (gasp, you mean he actually **_**has **_**feelings?). However, I felt that I didn't commit character-rape entirely. Light is still human, and no one can be in L's presence that long without feeling **_**something**_**.**

**If you really feel like crying, listen to "Room of Angel" while re-reading L and Light's last intimate scene. There's a link on my profile page to that song, if you're interested.**

**Thanks for all the continual support! A short side-chapter will be put up soon, and then I'll tackle the issue of getting rid of this story's separation lines. Once those things are accomplished, we will enter the Mello and Near arc! –pulls out the Kleenex boxes-**

**By the way, I realize that the final scene in this chapter is actually supposed to take place on November 15, 2004, but I thought that it would work so much better where I put it. **

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews/alerts/faves!**


	36. L Lawliet: Last Moments

**Author's Note: Sorry, but this isn't a long chapter! This is just a little side-chapter that I felt that I needed to do before completely moving on to the Mello-Near arc of the story. Sorry if it's confusing, but there will be a lot of flashbacks.**

**_Flashback_**

_'Thought in present'_

**'Thought in flashback'**

_

* * *

__November 5, 2010_

Bells were ringing, a deep echoing sound that shook him to the core. He couldn't seem to breathe, the pain in his chest was clenching too tightly.

**_Leaning down to pluck a particularly colorful flower, the boy made a starling discovery. The dark shadow at his feet was mimicking him. Not only did it follow him around, but it copied his movements. In fact, it kind of looked like him. _**

**_Then another interesting idea came to him. All of the shadows were on the opposite side of the sun from the object which it sprouted from._**

**"_The…sunlight can't pass through me."_**

**_A smile grew on his lips as he looked back down at his shadow. Four-year-old L had just made his first scientific discovery._**

It was almost as if he couldn't separate reality from his memories.

**_Crying. The children here were always crying and he hated it. Wammy had let again to do work and he was alone. At three in the morning, L was trying to block out the sounds of crying and whimpering by watching the white static on the playroom's television. The pantry's treasures were placed in front of him in order of sugar content. The Queen Anne's cordial cherries were almost completely polished off._**

The arms holding him were comforting and stifling. Those lips he had kissed so feverishly began to curl upward.

**"_I don't like it here," L pouted, but Quillsh was having none of it. _**

**_His firm yet neutral expression never wavered. "There's no reason not to like your home, L. You get fed, clothed, washed, and cared for. Now, is it true that you have been refusing to sleep lately?"_**

**_The boy pulled his knees closer to his chest and stuck his thumb into his mouth. He didn't like the stupid children or the stupid caretakers. This place was not safe, it was not home. _**

**_There was colored light rippling on the ground in front of him, painted by the stained glass wedged high above in the windows._**

The smirk was there.

**"_L, what are you doing?"_**

**_Dark eyes looked down from the fascinating stars to look at the mustachioed old man. It was odd how that firmly pursed mouth would smile so affectionately and so often at the other children, but never at him. It was always that line._**

**"_I'm making a snow angel."_**

**"_You're in your underwear."_**

**"_Wet underwear is easy to take off before getting into the building. It spares me a trip to the bath if all my outer garments are dry."_**

**_To L's surprise, instead of being given a verbal lashing, there was silence as Quillsh simply sat on the snow-covered sidewalk. Steel eyes watched the boy create a legion of snow angels._**

Everything was…

**"_Roger, you can call Scotland Yard," Quillsh sighed as he closed the case file in his hand. "I've discovered who the culprit was."_**

**_L continued to fiddle with his newest toy, a Rubik Cube. _**

**"_Already?" Mr. Wammy's friend asked in surprise._**

**_Before Quillsh could reply, a small voice cut him off. "It was Roy Elric, wasn't it?"_**

**_There was silence in the room as the two elderly gentlemen stared at him in shock. "W-what makes you say that?" Quillsh questioned as he pushed up his spectacles. Roger looked even more alarmed considering that Wammy's expression told the truth. _**

**_L could see it clear as day. He was right._**

…fading…getting…

**"_You did it L."_**

**_Looking up, the dark-haired boy nearly spat out his half-chewed brownie in surprise. Quillsh was smiling down at him. Smiling. At _him._ The silver-haired man raised a hand commanding silence just as L's lips parted to make a comment. _**

**"_The bomber was taken into custody. You got him."_**

**"_Of course," L snorted, feigning indifference. _**

**_But the truth was there in his trembling hands and clenching toes. If this was all that it took to get attention, to get affection, to get a smile, he could do it._**

…darker…

**"_His name is Beyond Birthday." _**

**_Looking at the picture held in front of him, L experienced a strange feeling for the first time in his life. Infatuation. Other children's pictures were on the table in front of him, but he snatched that one particular photograph in his sugar-covered fingers. This boy had lost both parents so quickly and yet there wasn't a speck of sorrow in his dark eyes. What kind of child had that strength?_**

**"_Is he mine?" L asked, his thumb stroking the boy's pale cheek. "Are they all mine?"_**

**_Watari nodded. "These are you successors."_**

There was almost no more pain.

**_What was going on? Why was he leaning closer to Mello's expectant face? When did his body go on auto-drive and press his lips against the child's? it had to be that damned strawberry blaze's fault. Swiping his tongue over the overly sweet substance on Mello's lips, he couldn't help but sigh in pleasure. _**

**_It was delicious._**

Hands were reaching out, taking hold of him.

**_The boy was absolutely darling. If he were a child molester, he would have spared no expense, time, or luxury to claim that boy as his. And from the child's mannerisms, such a thing had already happened. His guarded expression, his shyness towards touch, his distrust of everyone. Poor angel-faced boy with the snow-white hair. Child who was considered a demon straight from Satan's womb._**

**_Near would be the one closest to becoming the next L. He had known from the moment he had seen that conniving and disdainful expression. Growing up in Wammy's House, he would learn to be nastier, smarter, and would be ready to take on the world._**

**_Becoming the next L wasn't about who was the smartest, necessarily. L wasn't the world's three greatest detectives on virtue of his intelligence alone. There was a particular coldness, a frigid indifference of petty things such as fairness, justice, and honor. Do whatever it took to win, even if it meant cheating. Near would see that._**

…a cold grip…blood-red eyes…

**_Who would have thought that his oral fixation would carry over to his sex life? Or that he would have a sex life at all?_**

**_Licking across the sweaty expanse of flat Asian stomach, L paused to nip and suck at a particular spot under Light's navel. The taste of the salty skin complimented the sugary aftertaste that always seemed to linger in his mouth._**

**_Strong fingers clenched his hair, pulling too roughly, then too softly. His lips were now being drowned in the stifling passion, in overwhelming heat. Their mouths didn't fit right, and the cold air made his teeth sting. Allowing his eyes to slide open, L found himself being stared down by those beautiful golden eyes._**

**'So this is what it's like to kiss a killer.'**

'_I was right,' _he whispered to himself. _'But…I…'_

The weight of emotion felt heavy on his chest, like a block of lead instead of his heart. Before the tears had a chance to form, there was a frightening sense of disconnect and then the comforting feeling of being swept away into warmth and darkness.

And then there was Nothingness.

**MU**


	37. Separation

**_December 5, 2004_**

"L is dead."

The words were spoken calmly and yet with a certain heaviness that attached itself to the two members of the audience.

Mello's eyes widened almost comically, his body tensed, his mind blank.

Near's fingers paused for a fraction of as second as he stared at the L printed on the corner of his puzzle, the final piece suspended by his hand.

What warmth there had been in the day vanished, and a profound pain reflected in Roger's eyes. It was time to set the children on the wolf.

And so, their brief experience of childhood came screeching to a halt.

/_/_/_/

It was a beautiful day. Gloriously chilly, but with enough warmth to make it cozy. Grinning to himself, Matt felt like it was the perfect day. It had started off promisingly, with Mello and him snuggled in each other's arms, both enjoying the sun-rise plastered on their comforter. When they finally did get up, a late breakfast had been served with the addition of frothy whipped hot cocoa. Even Near forewent his 8 oz. glass of plain white milk for the hot chocolaty goodness.

Then Roger had announced the day as a free one so that everyone could take a break from studying and enjoy the last of the falling leaves. Mello had been in such a good mood that he played Pikmin 2 on the Gamecube with his gamer friend. It seemed like nothing could go wrong.

"I have to do it today," Matt mumbled to himself in surprise. It just felt right!

Scratching the back of his head shyly, Matt began to worry over the words he should say. _'Should I be blunt and straight to the point? Wait, maybe being funny and laid back will work better. Being serious would be kind of creepy, so that's out of the question. How about romantic? Would he like that better? But, he might take it like I'm treating him like a girl, and that's not what I want. Gah! Why am I stressing out about this? He's my best friend, I _know _he's going to say "yes", so who cares how I do it? It's not like I'm going to ask him in front of the whole orphanage.'_

Suddenly, he remembered that Mello had been planning to join the younger kids in a game of indoor freeze tag. It wouldn't be hard at all to catch the blond racing through the halls, and he could just pull his friend into whatever room was closest. Then, he would ask his question, get it answered, and they would go about their business. After a make-out session, hopefully.

Content with his battle strategy, the brunette began his hunt for Mello. He only managed to get a few steps out in the hallway before someone took hold of his hand and tugged him back. "Hunh?"

Wide brown eyes sparkled excitedly and pink glossed lips were upturned in a shy yet bubbly smile. "Hi Matt!"

Thankfully, her voice wasn't a high-pitched screech, but was instead a huskier melodic sound. "Um, hi?" He couldn't really remember her name; then again, he didn't remember ever being introduced to her, much less talking to her. But…she knew who he was. It was a little creepy.

"We never get a chance to talk after classes, so let's talk now, okay?"

Matt really wanted to find Mello at the moment, but he was disturbed by the fact that he didn't know who she was. Was there something wrong with him? Was he forgetting people or was it that he never bothered to notice that things had changed? Had Mello monopolized his attention so severely? Yes, he could remember sparing some attention to Near because of their shared history, but the younger boy hadn't changed much from when they met him. Realizing that the girl was still holding his wrist and staring at him expectantly, Matt gave in with a shrug. It couldn't hurt to chat for a bit.

Soar was her name, and she was brought to Wammy's House because she was an opera singer prodigy who would have never gotten a chance at stardom at the orphanage in South Korea where she came from. She had been at Wammy's for a little over a year and in that time had not only improved her vocal skills, but she had also learned to play the piano, violin, and cello.

In fact, she had learned them so well that she excitedly dragged him to the music room and gave him a private performance. Matt wouldn't lie; she was phenomenal. Her voice resonated in the acoustically well-designed room and the combination of voice and music sent chills through his body. After her mini-concert, Soar offered to give him a quick course on the piano and Matt jumped at the offer. Mello would definitely be impressed with his newfound skill; after all, years of gaming had made his already long and slender fingers nimble, his photographic memory made it easy to memorize key placements and the rules of reading music, and his hyperactive mind soaked up the theories and concepts of music. It all just clicked in his brain and after an hour and forty-five minutes, Matt was breezing through "Petrushka Transcription" by Stravinsky. Because he already memorized the sheet music, the brunette closed his eyes and just let the music flow through him, letting it translate into finger movements.

"Wow, Matt, that…that was amazing!"

Allowing his eyes to open, Matt was surprised to see that there were tears welled in her eyes. "Uh, well, it wasn't that good."

"Don't be so shy! You should definitely tell Roger about this," she offered, taking a seat next to him. "If you had some practice and some experienced teachers, you could be a great musician! Maybe even on par with Mozart!"

Matt felt his face burning in embarrassment at such compliments. No one had ever said those kinds of things to him before or taken an interest in _his _future. In everyone's eyes, his future entirely depended on what Mello was going to do. Even Matt thought of it that way. He would tag along with whatever his friend decided to do.

"You really think so?" he mumbled, looking at his gloved fingers.

Soar slowly took his hands in hers and looked straight into his eyes. "No lie, Matt. You're amazing."

A sense of elation and accomplishemtn swelled up in Matt and there was only one thought on his mind. It didn't matter that Soar was blushing and leaning closer to him. He never noticed the way her sleek black hair was tastefully poufed in the front and pulled into a ponytail in the back, rhow her clothes were flattering but not slutty. The fact that she had carefully done make-up and was wearing vanilla perfume meant absolutely nothing to him.

Jumping to his feet and pulling his hands out of her grasp, Matt beamed down at the young Asian. "Thank you so much, Soar! I've got to tell Mello!"

In a flash, he was gone leaving the stunned girl a little disheartened. "Oh well," she mumbled, still feeling her fingers tingle. "At least it was a good start."

A couple of hours later found Matt lying grumpily on his bed. Mello couldn't be found in any of his usual spots and Matt was tired of looking for him. Staring at the wall tiredly, he wondered when his friend would show up. Surely whatever Mello was doing wasn't important enough to miss out on the brownies that were soon to be served at dinner time. Unless Loyal had come back, that is.

With a sigh, Matt let his eyes slide shut. It had been a tiring day and he wanted more than anything to tell Mello how he really felt. It wasn't easy to be with Mello, but holding in his feelings was a lot harder.

"I'll just take a quick nap," he mumbled. "Mello'll wake me up for dinner…"

The patter of rain on his window slowly eased him into a comfortable sleep.

/_/_/_/

Bitter tears rolled down his cheeks and sobs shook his hunched shoulders. In the darkness of the baggage hold, Mello allowed his grief a moment of expression. L was dead.

"_I hate you!"_

L was dead. His friend, his mentor…gone. Just like B. Biting his lip to keep from getting too loud, Mello felt the overwhelming guilt smothering him. He had never gotten a chance to apologize for his hurtful and foolish words. Damn it, his wild emotions had made him do something so horrible and this time he couldn't apologize or make it up.

Even now, his emotions had dictated his actions. What the bloody hell was he doing? Why had he run away from the only place that could help him and protect him? Why had he left behind the most important person to his life without so much as a note or word? Why was he hiding in the luggage hold of an airplane headed to Ljubljana? Was there any meaning to his madness?

Madness?

Chuckling through the fog of tears, Mello tossed that single thought through his mind. It wasn't inconceivable that he had actually lost his sanity. The brain was a complex system, but the mind was even less understood. The threshold of sanity was different for each person and their tolerance to stressors was a wide range of variables. It was possible that he had reached the edge, that he had been stretched too far.

Trying to get comfortable on the mass of suitcases, Mello curled around his duffle bag and stared into the apathetic darkness.

**_December 6, 2004_**

The moment his eyes opened, Matt felt a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. Looking down, he half expected to see something or someone on top of him, but there was nothing. Only the chilly air. Confused, the brunette glanced around the room. Nothing was out of place; books were stacked neatly on the desks, used clothing was in the hamper, his games were alphabetized, and the bed across the room was made. Mello had cleaned up the room yesterday, and it seemed to have been frozen in that state. The clock read "9:57" and the PM dot wasn't lit up. He had overslept.

Wrinkling his brow in the confusion, Matt wondered why no one had come in to wake him up yet. The rain was coming down in sheets, sending wave after wave of water down the window pane. With a groan, he got out of his bed stiffly and headed towards the bathroom. After a hot shower, Matt was disappointed that he still didn't feel good. As he made his way to the kitchen, he wondered if he should visit the infirmary instead of going to class. Maybe he was coming down with something?

It didn't take long before he began to notice the stares and whispers. What the hell? Without Mello at his side, he found it harder to filter out other people. Did they always look at him that way? Were they always whispering about him? Even worse was the fact that Mello hadn't come to any classes and none of the teachers seemed surprised. Gnawing on his lip, Matt realized that Near hadn't been attending classes either.

"Matt?"

Jerking his head as his agitated reverie was broken, Matt looked up to see the instructor looking down at him with pity clearly pasted on her face. He hated that look. "What?" he snapped back, feeling more anxious and agitated.

"Roger sent for you." The words were spoken like a death sentence.

More and more of those awful stares followed him as he trudged towards the old man's office. Anxiety was swelling in him at an alarming rate, but he could do nothing other than walk to his destination. Surely Roger would tell him where Mello and Near went. But…why did it seem like everyone knew something that he didn't? Why wouldn't someone just tell him what was going on without him having to go to Roger? One glance as a sobbing Soar and Matt knew that whatever was wrong was going to be life-changing. The happy childhood he had known at Wammy's House would come crashing down on him.

"Y-you called for me?" he called out weakly as he peaked around the door. All of a sudden, he felt like an eight-year-old again, peeking from behind the door with Mello to see if they could avoid getting in trouble with the strict old man.

"Come in." Weary eyes looked up and there was that pity again. It was more frightening than it was offensive. After all, pity was not in Roger's dictionary and he had never shown even a glimpse of the emotion before. Not even when that one Letter had died.

"What is it?" he found himself practically begging. He wanted the news to be fast and sharp, like a yanked band-aid.

Steepling his fingers, the elderly gentleman who had been a constant in all of the children's lives rested his sharp chin on the digits. "L and Watari is dead."

For a moment, Matt almost felt like sighing in relief. That was it? L had finally died? Why would that—the implications struck him hard in the chest, knocking all the breath out of his thin frame. "…"

"Matt, you need to know that Mello left the house yesterday. He was almost 15 so we let him go. Near will be leaving soon so that he can be in a safe place to start his investigation."

The words seemed to be on replay in his mind. "Mello…left?"

"Yes. L did not get a chance to name a successor, so Mello withdrew from the running and decided to strike out on his own."

Still not really grasping the news, Matt looked towards Roger for clarification. "But why? I mean, why would he need to strike out on his own? What could possibly—"

"Kira."

There was no more need to explain things. He understood perfectly. Mello and Near would both be going after Kira, the very same creature that was more than likely the great detective's cause of death. They were leaving him. No, they already _left _him. And why shouldn't they? Weren't they the ones who wanted to follow in the shadow's footsteps? Weren't they the ones who adored L and wanted to become a spitting image of a person that they'd never seen before? And who was he but a tagalong that was too lazy to even study?

He was a 14-year-old with nowhere to go.

It was a surprise and shock when he felt the hot tears dripping down his neck and onto his baggy sleeves. The goggles were perched on top of his head as he wiped away at the moisture that was spilling profusely from his eyes. It wasn't a hysterical kind of crying or even the bawling of a child losing its mother. It was the simple and silent tears of a boy who had lost his everything.

'_Don't be stupid,' _his mind tried to reason. _'You're more than a relationship with Mello. There's more to you than following that blond around! You're a person, a human being with hopes, dreams, and aspirations!' _

But it all just seemed so empty. Mello was a constant, as ingrained into him as all the cheat codes for his games. He knew that Mello would brush his hair 200 times at least three times a day to keep it extra soft and shiny. He knew that Mello loved dipping his Oreos in chocolate milk. He knew that Mello actually hated coconut and wouldn't have it even if it was smothered in chocolate. He knew that Mello would sing Spice Girl songs in the shower and that he only used brand name shampoo. Hell, he even knew what scent of conditioner the blond preferred. He knew that when they cuddled in bed, Mello liked to be the shorter of them so that he could snuggle against Matt's chest. He even knew that Mello absolutely loved to have the roof of his mouth stroked with Matt's tongue when they kissed.

'_Where could he be?' _It was wrong. They were Mello and Matt, two peas in a pod. Ever since arriving in Wammy's House, he had never been parted from his friend. _'I was supposed to tell him about my feelings.'_

"Matt, I understand that you must be grieving, but all of us will have to deal with it," Roger mumbled unhappily. He didn't seem to know anything about comforting the miserable. "We don't intend to tell all of the others everything. All they need to know is that Mr. Wammy died and that Mello and Near were sent for extra training."

"How stupid do you think we are?" Matt found himself spitting out through gritted teeth. "We're goddamn geniuses. Have you seen the kids out there? Fucking crying! They know what the bloody hell is going on!"

"Watch your language," Roger warned half-heartedly.

'_I was the only one who didn't. I didn't know what had happened. I slept through the whole thing.'_

"Regardless, we're not going to make a big deal out of it."

"What…what are you doing to do about the rankings? None of us can be successors now."

Rubbing his temples, the elderly man glanced out the window. "I'm not sure yet, Matt. I just don't know."

Looking down at his hands, Matt thought that he also didn't know what he was going to do. He had it all, but it had slipped out of his fingers; he let it all go.

/_/_/_/

It was a blur of activity in his room, something that Near wasn't exceptionally fond of. A nurse was coming in to make sure that he had all of his shots as if he were going to be in some underdeveloped country hiding in the bushes with the threat of malaria continuously looming overhead. A young man was packing his clothing and was throwing the occasional toy in his bags. Why did he need everything? When had he gotten so many _things_?

Irritated with the whole situation, Near stared at his puzzle. This was the item that had been his companion when the news was passed on to him. L was dead. L had lost the game. Now it was his turn. Both he and Mello would be jumping into the game, and the penalty was a late start. No bonuses to help them catch up, no hints, no cheats. They would start at last place. Dragging his fingers over the only open space on the white surface of the puzzle, Near felt something akin to unhappiness.

That damned L had one-upped him.

By not choosing a successor, L had forced the blond to bow out of their personal competition. He was no longer at the forefront of Mello's mind. Instead, the volatile desire for revenge was. Glaring hatefully at one of the meaningless people gathering his stuff together, Near wasn't sure what to do. It was obvious that he would have to avenge L's death by arresting Kira, but getting the resources and enough evidence to do that wasn't so simple. If he just walked up to the Queen of England and explained that L was dead and that he was actually the true successor, he would be laughed at or even thrown out.

No, he was actually going to have to build up a reputation as a mastermind detective and then use that to gain favor with a particular government and then he would use that government to provide him with everything that he would need to catch Kira. Twirling a strand of unruly white hair, Near tossed the options around in his head. He would obviously need to get in favor of a large and powerful government. That meant that he would need to move to the United States of America and start his operations there. Japan was in a mess at the moment and the fact that Kira was there and about a year ahead of him on the board was more than enough reason to stay away.

Visualizing the game pieces was anything but encouraging. It was like a rat race with the prize being control of the world. L thought that he had the prize in hand, but Kira had snatched it up from the shadows. Those two had been wrestling for the rights to define justice, and Kira managed to knock L's piece over. The King was dead. However, in this game, you didn't win by killing the King alone. You had to kill the entire royal family. Queen Watari was dead as well, but there was still Princess Mello and Prince Near. Matt was out of the running. He wouldn't be able to function without his other half. What a pity.

Looking towards his bed, Near's slate grey eyes fell on a stuffed orca whale. Seeing it brought out uncomfortable feelings, memories that were easier to ignore than they were to constantly mull over. It had been a wonderful Christmas present from his two friends. Matt had presented it to him with so much pride. Mello had been too distracted by the obscene amount of sugar confections he had received. To be honest, even as he had always loved Mello, he had always liked Matt. The boy was honest and open, and he loved to have a good laugh. He was the closest out of all of them to being normal and it had given Near a sense of warmth and comfort. Where Mello was all energy and action, Matt was addicted and demanding. He could absorb Mello's energy, calming the hyper blond down, but now that there was no energy to feed off of, he would implode. Like a black hole.

But it wasn't like he was looking down on Matt; quite the contrary. He and Matt were very similar in that they had selfishly fed off of Mello's overabundance of emotions, but the difference rested in his ability to survive without the constant drug. Matt's addictive personality was to blame for his inability to recover from such a serious blow to his psyche. It was quitting cold turkey from years of constant emotional drug abuse.

"Near, are you ready?"

Another pathetic excuse for a human being was looking down at him, pity and worry stupidly etched on her features. This was not going to break him, and he would not suffer in his journey to catch up to Kira. This was not asking too much of him; he could do it. This was not putting undue stress and responsibility on his shoulders; he was made for this. Wammy's House made him for this.

Amidst the children's tattered emotions, dreams, and relationships, the bells were ringing.

/_/_/_/

There were no more nightmares. They hadn't come to him in sleep for many months. Everything about the darkness surrounding him should have been comforting; the smell of vanilla candles, the soft shadows cast by its flickering light, the warm body pressed against his. He hated it, every bit of it. The scent was too pseudo-sweet, the light too uncertain, the body too soft.

Sitting up in bed, Light Yagami fought the urge to scream in frustration. It was over dammit, he had won! It had been a month ago when they put to rest the cold body of the world's three greatest detectives. He had looked frozen in sleep as they closed the casket, and at the time Kira had been ecstatic. What god of a new world wouldn't be?

* * *

_Soichiro had finished saying some ridiculously cliché words promising revenge for the death and explaining step by step what the task force was going to do to catch Kira. It's like they didn't realize that L's body could care less what they would do, and that he didn't _need _an explanation from their stupidly simple minds, as if he, the great L, needed to be told _anything_! Morons, all of them. L didn't need their assurances to be able to rest in peace. But he had a part to play._

"_That's right." All of the taskforce members were looking at him now, expecting the distraught tone, the body language of one who had lost a dear friend. "We'll catch Kira and avenge Ryuzaki. Solving this case will be our last gift to him…to Watari, to all of Kira's victims, and to all of the people of the world." Clenching his fist, he forced the words past his clenched teeth. "I swear right here and now, I will send Kira to his execution!"_

_They believed it. All of them touched his shoulder in encouragement as the passed by; he alone remained in front of the grave. None of them had any idea how he really felt. They weren't there when L took him for the first time, or when L would hold him tightly at night. Those fools didn't know the deep sense of calm and contentment that had filled his every moment for the months being chained to that social reject. How could they even begin to presume that any encouragement they could offer would be enough? It wasn't their lover who was now locked away in the womb of the earth. They never suffered such pain…_

…_and such elation. _

"_Whaddaya know?" Ryuk observed, his gravelly voice sounding almost like a cackle. "So L's finally gone for good now, huh? Too bad. I guess that means there won't be anything interesting to look forward to anymore."_

_A quiet chuckle caught the Shinigami's attention. Then the chuckle built up until it could no longer be contained by Kira, and he spread out his arms in victory as he laughed over the grave. Looking up into the bloody sky it was as if he were looking into the future. "Now everything that stood in my way is gone, and everyone else still believes in me." The euphoria of being victor, of seeing his competitor put out of their game for good was almost too much. "It's only a matter of time before I get rid of the police."_

_Ryuk's eyes glowed red as he watched the scene unfolding. _

"_What do you think of that, L?" Kira questioned, his hands on knees on the freshly turned soil. "This is my perfect victory!" He had to convince himself, he had to push away those irrelevant emotions and thoughts. "That's right, I win!" I am god._

_But the smile couldn't stay there, even as he glared at the headstone. Hate burned in his eyes, hate for those feelings, hate for those distractions, hate for the feeling that things weren't over yet. He _won_. L was gone. L was…_

"_Did you say that you no longer have anything interesting to look forward to, Ryuk?" The mania from a few moments ago was gone, without a trace left in his voice. "Well, I promise that won't be the case. From now on, I'm going to show you the creation of a new world." He was standing again, and his eyes were set on the goal that now seemed attainable without a certain somebody in the way._

* * *

It was the price he had to pay for giving up his memories of the Death Note for a while. Just something that he had to compartmentalize into the unavoidable risk and damage portion of his mind. That's all. The fact that he could barely tolerate looking at a cake was the unfortunate side-effects of being Kira.

"Now that you're gone…" Light whispered in the dark, "…I just want…"

"Is something wrong?" Misa mumbled sleepily as she looked up at him from the comfort of her goose-feather pillow.

He didn't have to fake a smile for her. "No. Go to bed."

/_/_/_/

"You could have gotten in trouble," a deep voice stated. Bejeweled eyes turned over to examine the hunched figure fondly. "Going down to the human realm…and for what? To escort your 'lady' into Nothingness?"

"I…love your voice," the figure whispered, his voice a mixture of earthly and unearthly sounds. It was the whispering wind, the flickering flame, the thunderclap, the screams of souls, the emptiness of the Shinigami realm, the creaking of the bony joints, and the clattering of skull-head dice. It was the voice of a Shinigami who didn't know where he belonged yet. "It's not quite gravelly or smoky. It's deep and calming. Then again, it's also not smooth like velvet or sweet and considerate. I know I'm dead when I hear your voice. If anything, it resembles the creaking of a heavy hinge, that sensual moan of metal against metal without any lubrication."

"Khe he he he, is that so? It's good to know that you like my voice. Though, I have to be honest. You're probably so fond because it's the same voice that called you into existence. It's usually the Old Man who does the honor, but not this time. You're just like the baby cooing to his mother's voice."

"That's it exactly. So, should I call you mother?"

"Answer my question. And if you call me mother, I'll send you right back where you came from."

"Sure thing, Armonia Justin _**Beyond**_ormason." White diamond eyes met with blood red eyes. "To hell with consequences, I had to make sure that the last thing he saw wasn't the face of that psycho."

"Hehehehe, it's a good thing that I like you," the Shinigami advisor snickered, leaning his chin on his fist.

"And it's a good thing my mother liked _you_. Heh, hehehe, KYA HA HA HA!"

* * *

**Author's notes: I had to throw this last part in there just for you guys. XD I'm such a tease, aren't I? And yes, I'll go into more of this later in the story, but it's not the main focus. As always, the focus will be on Mello, Matt, and Near. But out of curiosity, how many of you caught the reference to Beyond Birthday in the chapter "L Lawliet"? Thank you for the continual support and I hope that this chapter was well liked. **


	38. Paths

The cold bit through his sweater like a rabid dog. His hands were already red and achy while his feet were completely numb. It had been hard, just wandering around trying to use what little memory he had of the place to his advantage, but it wasn't like he had a choice. He couldn't just walk up to a random person's house and ask if they knew where Jelka Keehl used to live. Not only would that have been stupid because of the long time between her disappearance and the current date, but because that would be like advertising his real name in neon lights and inviting people to connect that name with a face.

Gritting his teeth, he had to stomp the life back into his feet and keep moving. It was hard to recall many of the buildings and it was even possible that he had never actually been in that area in his life. As far as he could remember, his life back then consisted of the small apartment that he shared with his mother before that night that she disappeared.

Stopping in front of a small toy shop, Mihael stared at his pale, sunken reflection. He had tried to forgo food as much as possible so that he could conserve money. Pick pocketing wasn't something that he wanted to engage in too often because that would just mean a higher chance of his getting caught by officials. What a terrible way to end his path of revenge, in a backwoods jail cell in Ljubljana. Looking past the reflection, the blond teen focused his attention on a beautifully carved horse; the paint reflected the light as if it had just been freshly painted and its bristly hair stuck straight up attractively. A memory seemed to flicker at the edge of his mind, teasing him with its promises before swiftly racing away.

With a huff of frustration, Mihael moved away from the store and back towards the streets. He was certain that his old home was closer to the outskirts of the city, but the city had grown and at the time he left he hadn't gotten the chance to memorize the area before he was united with Mr. Wammy; just thinking of the kind elderly man made him sick to his stomach. It was nearly impossible to focus on such old memories when the newer and stronger memories insisted on assaulting him. Chocolate bars would always accompany visits, wrinkles would deepen as the kind smile widened, and so many more details that ached his heart to think on. So he did all that he could to stop thinking about it. The sharp, cold wind served as a tool to bring his focus to his current situation. Frozen pain.

A particular gargoyle with toes curled into its stone perch sent a jolt of déjà vu through his consciousness.

_**Dark owlish eyes, alabaster skin, and bony toes clenched into the soft material of the plane's seat cushion.**_

Before he even had a chance to soak in the image of the old worn-out church, a loud choked cough caught his attention. The cough was deep from lungs coated with the thick tar of constant cigarette abuse. It was something that his mind couldn't forget, that particular pitch of sound, that gravelly voice cursing the Virgin Mary's genitals, and the heavy footsteps of an old woman shuffling forward. Blue-green eyes flashed and stared down into the steely grey eyes that at one point scared him senseless.

"Madame," he stated with a voice that thankfully didn't tremble.

The old hunched woman froze in her tracks with a pale deeply wrinkled face. There were less teeth in her mouth, less hair on her head, and a haunted look in her eyes that wasn't there all those years ago. A look that spread across her entire expression and caused her knees to visibly shake beneath her wool skirt. Nicotine stained lips went slack and her knuckles whitened as she clenched her shoulder bag.

"J-jekla?"

/_/_/_/

Starting over from scratch wasn't exactly the easiest thing for anyone to do, but add to that the fact that you were actually sneaking into a country to hunt down a mass serial killer and things were a little more complicated than baking damn Amish cookies. There was no Roger, no Watari, no L. Money wasn't the issue, and it was the only thing Near had going for him. There had been connections, but all of them were compromised since L died. No, he was not stupid enough to try reaching out to those contacts when Kira might possibly be keeping a lookout on them. He didn't need to alert his prey to the fact that he was going to enter the arena.

But, even he wasn't foolish enough to think that he could get anything done by himself. For goodness sake, he was thirteen years old. No one would feel particularly threatened by him or even take him seriously. Of course not; he needed someone with a lot more clout. His subordinate needed to be smart, cunning, an actor, and a fighter should things get ugly. He needed one man that could embody all of the people that L had under his thumb.

A one-man army.

Which was why he was sitting across the room from the beefiest man he had ever seen. Arnold Schwarzenegger would be jealous of those biceps. His grey eyes examined the man sitting stiffly in front of him. What was this man thinking? Was he surprised that he was sitting in the same room with a fragile looking child? Was he disturbed by the child with the devil buried inside? Did he squirm because he was unnerved by the calculating eyes? Was he waiting for an adult to show up and free him from the presence of such a horrid creature?

"Anthony Carter?"

The man flinched a little, but his face remained calm. "Yes, sir?"

Interesting. Being called "sir" already? He didn't like the way it sounded. "Anthony, you may call me Norris. Chuck Norris. Do you know why I called you?"

There was confusion wrinkled in his brow, but nothing else marred the man's chiseled features. "Mr. Norris, I honestly don't know why I'm here." Near observed the stiff, formal posture with distaste; it reminded him of countless hours of being tied to a chair in his mother's kitchen. "All I know is that I was in the process of applying for an administrative position at the federal building and I was sent here."

Near twirled a strand of hair around his pointer finger. It was obvious that even though this Anthony Carter was confused and uncomfortable, he was still calm and observant. Those eyes that seemed to have been staring fixedly at some spot on the wall were alert and shone with a special type of awareness. Those were the trained eyes of a special forces man. Anthony had also noted the strange name, calculated a response, and executed the reply with efficiency.

"What did you do before applying for a job as a _secretary_?" Near asked with a slightly bored tone.

Mr. Carter seemed to bristle slightly at being called something with such an effeminate ring to it, but he didn't let the anger show through his voice. "I was a member of the Armed Forces."

"Which branch?"

There was a slight flutter of his eyelids. "Army."

"A career military man would make far more money than a secretary at a no-name federal building in a no-name city in the mostly-forgotten state of Wyoming, so why aren't you still serving?"

This time those green eyes pinned him under their intense glare. "I didn't enter the military for the money. I did my duty, and now I'm trying to make a living."

"A living?" Near snickered. "What's to live for, Anthony? You're a single 36-year-old white male whose only accomplishment in life consists of killing babies like a mindless drone for the government."

The words were exceptionally harsh, and he knew it. Near had to test, to push, to _break_. He needed to break this man in front of him, to see the core of this creature. Was it good enough for his purposes?

However, there was none of the fire and brimstone that he had been anticipating. Not even a snarl. Anthony Carter merely stood up and stared down his ridiculously perfect nose with what appeared to be _pity_ in his eyes. "Chuck Norris," he started with the straightest expression, "I don't know who you are or why anyone would make a child say such things, but understand one thing. I make meaning for my own life, and it's none of your concern how I do that. My service is not something that I'm ashamed of, and people who say such uneducated things like my supposed 'killing babies' should look into some facts before spouting off such nonsense."

Near was floored with the calm reaction and even allowed his eyes to widen as the huge man knelt down to get eye level with him. "What are you-"

"Are you okay?" Anthony asked, concern obvious in his eyes. "I don't know who's making you do this, but they can't be good people. Really, what kind of kid needs to say such things? Hey, why don't you come with me down to the station? I'll call the police and we'll get you taken care of, okay?"

A smile nearly broke out on Near's face at the ludicrous thought of someone putting those words into his mouth, of someone orchestrating _him _as if he weren't the true successor to the great L. However, that same thought evoked a much different emotion. Anger. How dare this washed up special forces commander treat him like some idiotic _child _that needed rescuing? For heaven's sake, he was a Wammy's kid!

"As if I need _your _help," he sneered, tugging at his curled hair mercilessly. Carter looked surprised again. "You, Anthony Carter, are in no position to offer me help! You are nothing more than a used up Green Beret commander who is so swamped with guilt for getting his team killed that he can't stand the thought of serving in the military anymore!"

Silence filled the room for a moment. Only the ringing in his ears teased Near's auditory nerves for a few precious seconds, and in those seconds he realized a few things. First, although he would die before admitting it, he was stressed out and sca-…no, he was stressed and _worried_. He was thirteen years old with no experience with the real world and he was left mostly alone to deal with the issue of history's greatest serial killer. He was also mourning his separation from his friend, Matt, and the object of his adoration, Mello. And now, he was suffering from an inferiority complex to a man who might very well become his subordinate. Here was a man who had it together; he had a great physique (what Near would never have), he was in control of his emotions even at the cruel taunting (what Near should have had), and he was honest and yet still a caring person (what Near always wanted to be for one person).

Anthony stared hard into the cold, burning grey eyes of the child in front of him. Those eyes didn't belong to a little kid; it wasn't just that they were calculating and mostly expressionless, but they were empty and frightened. This kid was scared and was lashing out like a wounded animal. Something wasn't right with this scene; when did the world turn on its head like this?

"Chuck," he whispered.

Near felt frustrated tears stinging at his eyes. "It's Near," he hissed.

Another name? Well, now wasn't the time to think too hard on that. "Okay. Near, I'm not sure what your situation is, but I don't think that it matters entirely too much." He paused, making sure that his own emotions were in check before continuing on. "You look like you could use some…help. I noticed that there weren't any surveillance cameras in here and you're too frightened when I get close to you which makes me think that maybe you're alone. Letting my men die was a mistake that I will regret forever, but that doesn't mean that I should stop functioning or helping others. Do you want help?"

This was it, his last chance to see if Mr. Carter could handle the job. "I'm going to hunt Kira down and bring him to justice. That's what I was raised to do. Now, are you interested in putting your life on the line, erasing yourself from a normal life, and possibly dying without achieving the goal of offering up Kira's head on a platter? This is the only time I shall extend the offer. If your answer is yes, we leave immediately. If it's no, then you will leave and will never see me again."

The former commander looked around the room as his mind raced with the offer. He didn't know anything about this kid or even if this Near was telling the truth. It didn't even seem possible that the boy was telling the truth, but what reason did he have for making such a ridiculous lie? And if he wasn't lying, what then? Would he take the offer? It was true that he didn't support Kira, but did that mean that he would actually go against the murderer and try to bring him to justice?

Heh, who was he kidding? He had nothing to lose.

/_/_/_/

It was getting bad. Holding himself, Matt felt like his head was swimming in a current of ocean water being sucked up by a large hurricane. Snow was falling outside already, and it made his stomach churn uncomfortably. What if Mello was out there in that weather? He didn't take a heavy coat. What was he eating? None of the chocolate bars stashed in the room had even been touched.

No, it was starting again.

Heaves began to shake his body as he curled more tightly on himself. The doctors would say that he was making himself sick with stress. Roger would say that he needed to visit the shrink. The other kids would point and whisper. But then…they were already doing that. It hadn't helped that he had snapped at lunch the other day and had thrown all of his food right into Soar's face, screaming that it was all her fault.

A burning pain continued to gnaw at his stomach, and what little food he managed to get down was just preparing to come back up. Everyone was looking down at him again. He was a nobody, a nothing. There was no Mello, so there was no Matt. It was wrong, the world was wrong. The air was suffocating him, choking the sense right out of him. At the moment, he didn't want to have logical thoughts. He didn't want to think about how leaving him behind was the best tactical decision to have made or that Mello had put himself into danger all for the sake of some guy who never really cared about them. If L couldn't stop Kira, then why the hell did Mello think that he had a chance? Why would he go into a situation where he knew he couldn't win?

_Because Mello never did learn when to give up. He never knew when to be happy with second place._

"And you can't hear me say that I love you," he whispered to the silence. "Or that I'm sorry for being so mean to you." His eyes were bloodshot from staring unblinkingly at the hardwood floor. "I r-really liked it when you s-sucked my dick, and I've dreamed a-about you d-doing it again."

Tears streaked down his temple and across the bridge of his nose, slipping onto Mello's pillow. He hadn't slept in his own bed since Mello left. Why was this affecting him so much? How many other people went crazy when their best friend moved away? How many other people fell in love with said best friend before completely losing the will to live when said friend runs off? Why so much drama? Why couldn't he just move on like a normal person?

"But, Mello, it's not all about the physical stuff, you know. There was so much more to us th-than the stomach butterflies and k-kisses. What about our nights spent cuddling under c-covers whenever it thundered too loudly? How about all those times we played together? We liked each other, and I'm pretty sure that we love each other…"

But, that wasn't enough. Being with Matt would never be enough for Mello. Matt had never been enough for anyone to want to keep a hold of. Not even Near.

"_Goodbye Matt."_

That was all Near bothered to say before he was shipped off to no-one-knows-where. The young pale boy hadn't even seemed particularly bothered about his own situation and he didn't seem particularly concerned about Matt's situation either.

Curling on himself further, Matt wondered if there had been any one person in this world who had needed him, who had wanted to stay by his side forever. Was there one person out there who would die before leaving him? Oh, how he so wanted Mello to be in his mind at that moment, but it wasn't the truth. Mello wouldn't be devastated without Matt following him around; his running off proved that. Near never really liked him; he had merely put up with him so that he could be closer to Mello.

Just as he was planning on giving up that train of thought and regretfully accepting the inevitable fact that he was not that important to anyone, one person's face flashed into his mental plane. Kennedy. Rolling out of bed and shuffling to the waste bin, Matt proceeded to throw up bile and stomach acid. What kind of a terrible creature was he? It had been such a long time since he had allowed himself to think about his younger sister. Heh, maybe this was divine punishment?

How long had he forced himself to focus solely on Mello so that he could forget that life in the past, those cold hard nights in New York City. He wanted to forget the churning of an empty stomach, the sting of so many beatings, the shivering of his sister as he held her tight to keep her warm. But who had been the only one who had always been there for him? Who had been the one that he had abandoned and had committed the unforgivable crime of trying to forget? Wasn't Kennedy the one who had petted his head after those particularly brutal beatings, whose eyes had shone with so much love and appreciation when he brought her a stolen toy?

Sleep was gone from him. Numb fingers groped for his handheld game, trembling as they struggled to turn the device on. He couldn't handle this anymore, it was too much. Stress was swallowing him, opening its maw of destruction wide. There was an itch to run, to get away from the situation. Surely it wouldn't be hard to find her, his little angel. The game consumed him with its fascinating little pixels. Such a distraction made it easier for him to think, to reason out and plan. Was it possible? Could he do it? Could he survive _not _doing it? This was new, and it actually made him feel a little better. No longer was he wallowing in self-pity, but he was doing something about it.

Something…was better than nothing…it…kept his mind…busy…

/_/_/_/

It wasn't hard to find her. Her new name was Kennedy Williams; she had been adopted not long after being put into an orphanage by a well-to-do couple. Carl and Misty Williams had tried having children for a few years before giving up and adopting Kennedy as their only child. Kennedy went to an expensive prepatory school, was lavished with gifts and affection, and was sincerely loved by her family. But everything wasn't rainbows and gumdrops. According to the hacked medical files, little Kennedy suffered from complications passed down to her courtesy of her druggie parents. Bouts of depression, among other symptoms, plagued her short life.

But he didn't look into things enough. He didn't bother to look up her information through normal search engines which would have revealed the recent news articles. He didn't bother with such simple things, because even with his experience with life, Mail Jeevas was still naïve. He could pretend that running away from Wammy's House to find his sister would make things better. He could be a big brother to her again, he could comfort her, he could love her, and she would love him too. It would be just like old times except they wouldn't be starving and cold. Los Angeles was warm.

It wasn't the weather that he had to worry about. Going to the Williams home, Mail had been anything but prepared. There were too many vehicles in front of the house, but no laughter or merry-making. There wasn't a party being celebrated. He had been excited, finally finding a reason to smile. A new life with someone who would love him unconditionally. He didn't notice the flowers piled along the white picket fence. There were no happy faces chalked on the sidewalks. Black ribbon draped on the door meant nothing to the desperate boy.

A tearful women dressed in all black answered the door. She had a napkin clenched in her small fist. It was easy to recognize Misty from the photographs in the databases, but she was a lot smaller and more delicate than Mail had imagined. However, she was pretty and someone that Kennedy would have easily adored.

"May I see Kennedy?"

The panic began when Mrs. Williams choked a sob. She looked bewildered and even a bit upset. Fresh tears rolled down her swollen cheeks and her reddened lips scowled. "Who are you?" she spat. "I'm not sure what kind of pleasure you get in mocking our family's pain, but get out of here before I call the police."

Shock painted Mail's features at her reaction, and pain struck him a hard blow. Connections were being made in his brain that should have been well before. It just didn't make sense, though. How could something like this even happen? And now? Now that he was coming to see her? It didn't happen years ago, or even years in the future. It happened days ago. Mere days ago. He couldn't believe it; things like this weren't real. No deity could be so cruel to him, to snatch away any chance he had of salvation.

There was a devil, a tormentor. Man was helpless to the whims of eternal evil, the only true power in the world. The only god who gave a damn about fighting the devil was Kira. So, if god was Kira, and a god fought against the devil, that meant…

/_/_/_/

"May I ask why we're here?" Commander Carter looked ridiculous in his Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, but it was all for the sake of the "tourist" look. Besides, Near just wanted to see if the strict man would put that get-up on.

"Anthony, as I've explained, in order for me to be able to be taken seriously as L's successor, I must build a name for myself, and I must do that by solving cases."

"Yes, I understand that, but Near, we're in the middle of Wyoming. Wouldn't a big city with lots of crime be a better place to start than…out here?"

True. How many other detectives went to the boondocks to gain a reputation for themselves? Anthony was an intelligent man, and a lie wouldn't be beneficial at the moment. The best approach would be to tell him to mind his own business. "It's none of your concern," Near snapped, his eyes drawn to a particular family sitting at a picnic table several yards from them. He and Anthony were in a vehicle with tinted windows, so he wasn't worried about being recognized. "I'll give you the information you need. Don't bother asking for any more."

The American shook his head slightly, but didn't seem frustrated. "It sounds like this is something personal. No one picks a random small town in the great, wide state of Wyoming without having a good reason."

"Commander," the boy began in a warning tone, but the older man raised his hand to cut him off.

"Near. I don't have to know the details. That's not the point. It's just foolish to be so distrustful towards me when my entire reason for being here is to help you achieve your goals. I honestly don't give a damn why you do what you do, but I need to do my job well. If that involves my butting into your personal boundaries, then I'll do it. If you don't like it, go get someone else."

Huffing unhappily, the young teen focused his attention on the family. It would have been a heartwarming scene, complete with an overly attentive wife, happy siblings, and the caring but invalid father. His face was completely deformed, barely a semblance of what a face should be, and he walked around only with the aid of a sturdy cane due to the nerve damage in his leg and a replaced hip that prevented his walking normally. It was a wicked and cruel irony.

Even worse, there was a young child in the picture. However, this child was different; he was afflicted with Down Syndrome. It was almost cruel enough to make Nate laugh. People looked on that family and praised them for being the perfect example of Christian charity. Even after such a terrible incident, the family was so willing to open their home and offer the gift of a safe and comfortable life to one who wasn't so fortunate. This time, they even went so far as to help a special needs child who would have been clueless and alone by himself in the world. To be honest, looking from the point of view of someone on the outside he could almost believe it; believe that the boy's genuine smile was never taken away, and to believe that the exuberant parents were innocent and kind-hearted folks who really were looking out for the benefit of another human being.

But Nate River knew better than that. Turning his face away in disgust, he began to run through the plan in his mind. Now that he was thinking about it, he never really did have a plan. There had been a mental discussion of where to start, of course, and there was only one real case that he knew about that hadn't been solved and yet could be. There was also his need for revenge. He was not going to count that out. What to do? What…

"Commander Carter. Do you see that deformed pathetic excuse for a human being?"

The ex-Army commander looked towards the happy family and frowned. However, he didn't question Near's choice of descriptors. "That man with his family?"

"That _thing _has been responsible for the molestation and rape of at least three children and it's suspected that he is currently molesting that young boy over there with assistance from his wife."

Anthony examined the family more carefully. There was nothing in their demeanor that suggested any kind of sexual abuse. A full grown boy was trying to show the young special needs boy how to do a front flip, and a particularly thin young lady was trying her best to look sluttishly attractive to a group of young men hanging around the swing sets. "What evidence do we have."

"None."

Snorting in amusement, Anthony looked over at the pale boy who was currently engaged in a staring match with his stuffed dinosaur. "How do you intend to proceed, then?"

"Come on, Commander. Be resourceful."

Raising an eyebrow, he felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Are you asking me to do this case for you? That's cheating."

"I'm not above cheating if it gets me what I want," the Nate deadpanned.

/_/_/_/

Walking around sightlessly, Mail ran through the probabilities in his head. What were the chances that he would run away from Wammy's House, find his sister's new home, and arrive a couple of days after her death? Maybe 1%? How did she die anyway? Was it a drive-by shooting? School shooting? Freak accident?

Laughing to himself, the teen wondered if maybe he had misinterpreted things. Maybe it was actually Mrs. William's bizarre way of chasing away boys from their precious little girl? Of course, there was no reason for the woman to know that he was Kennedy's older brother; they didn't look very much alike, and it wasn't like he introduced himself.

Clinging to this possibility, Mail made his way back to the neat, small house. If they weren't going to let him see her, he would just sneak in. Years of getting into places that he and Mello weren't allowed in made his newest break-in easy. It wasn't hard to find the window that would lead to the girl's room, and it was even easier to climb up the latticework and slip in through the unlocked window. Really, it couldn't have been easier to slip into the house unnoticed. Were these people that lax about their security, or were they particularly stupid? Anyone could have gotten into the house.

There were voices from the rooms beneath his feet and even some audible crying. Ghosting over the plush white carpet, Matt gently shut the door and cut off all contact with the rest of the house. With a deep breath, Mail turned to face the room.

Lavender paint covered the walls before being buried underneath posters of boy bands, Brad Pitt, Brittany Spears, and a host of other idol-worthy performers. A dark purple comforter swallowed the twin-size bed and an obscene amount of stuffed animals were piled up near the pillows. Lithe fingers trailed over _The Princess Diaries _and _Chicken Soup for the Soul_, blue eyes reading over the titles of school books.

The smell of cherry lip gloss and tween perfume hung in the air and Mail felt himself drawn towards the white vanity. Nail polish was lined up perfectly on the left side of the table top, bright pink lipstick and a horde of lip gloss on the right side. Taking a seat on the small stool, the brunette stared at his reflection. Smiling, he grabbed the bubblegum flavored lip gloss and began smearing it across his lips. Days and nights of playing with their mother's old cheap makeup flashed beneath his eyelids; Kennedy had always loved putting lipstick on him, saying that it made him look just like Mommy.

Even though he was smiling, he could feel the heaviness in the air. Why would such a young girl's room feel this way? Allowing his hands to roam over the smooth vanity, Mail felt his eyes drawn to the edge of a book that was sticking out from under Kennedy's bed. Without much thought he moved over to the floor and pulled out the pink book. Written on the cover was a loopy "Diva Diary" surrounded by rhinestones and glittery flowers.

Looking around guiltily as if he expected to be walked in on, Mail cracked open the diary. Heavy handed lettering of a young girl jumped off the pages, immediately catching the attention of the brunette.

_Deer diary,_

_Today my Mommy got me a pritty diary so that I can write my thoughts and feelings because that's what Dr. May says will help me with my depreson. I hope that this works because I don't like being sad…_

Words floated through his mind, imprinting on his too spacious mind. Each joy that was written in the words of a little girl made him smile, and each bad day made him cry. It was like he wasn't even in his own body anymore, and was instead living in the world of his sister. School sucked because her damaged mind couldn't comprehend such difficult things like algebra or proper sentence structure. Letters would dance before her eyes, flipping over each other and making her read, write, and say things backwards. Her head would ache with each dose of homework as she tried to understand what everyone thought was so easy.

Kids made fun of her and bully her, but there was one person who turned her world on its head. A stranger on a park bench had offered her the kindness of some barbeque potato chips and had listened to her; however, unlike the other adults, he didn't find it necessary to tell her what to do. He just offered his shoulder for her to cry on. She was happier until the day that the strange man (Ryuzaki) went away; her mother scolded her for hanging around such a strange person and from that day forward she never saw him again.

"_**Today you become a big girl, able to take care of yourself. Okay?"**_

Everything tumbled to hell. She wasn't a big girl, and she couldn't take care of herself. In innocence, she succumbed to a crush and allowed an older boy into her heart and body. She loved him, so it was okay to put her mouth down there. He loved her too and would touch her all over. Like a princess, she was already planning a grand wedding for the two of them. Doves would fly overhead and a rainbow would paint the perfect sky. People would laugh and be happy, never to worry about her again because she would be protected.

Then, the words that cut the deepest of all.

_He hates me._

_Tommy doesn't love me. No one ever loved me. Not even Mail._

Dropping the diary to the floor, Mail stared unblinkingly at the surrounding room before locking with the blood-stained carpet fibers butted against the bathroom's tiled floor.

/_/_/_/

"_Earlier this week, our station ran the tragic story of a 12-year-old girl who had committed suicide after years of suffering from chronic depression and learning disabilities. However, today we update the story with a strange turn of events…"_

"_Today, at what was a somber event of mourning for the loss of a beautiful 12-year-old girl, things got out of hand…"_

"…_a young man was brutally assaulted…"_

"…_Tommy Glenn was just a mourning friend of the deceased girl who came to pay his respects…"_

"…_witnesses describe a strange young man losing his mind and attacking the victim…"_

"_The unknown assailant was taken into custody by the police…"_

"…_mourners were disturbed by the scene as the police struggled to constrain the crazy young man, even going so far as to taser him…"_

"…_police still haven't been able to identify the boy…"_

"_As far as we know, the victim was taken to the hospital, but the extent of his injuries are unknown at the moment.."_

/_/_/_/

The pitter-patter of water hitting the windshield nearly drove the brunette crazy. At the same time, it brought him a sense of comfort. It was constant and it reminded him of the color purple. Purple, just like his bruises; it was as if England was hurting too.

"Don't cry," he whispered against the cold glass. His warm breath fogged up a small patch of the window and his moving lips marred the milky moisture on the smooth pane. "Don't cry."

"What did you say?" Roger asked sharply as he looked in the rear-view mirror.

Mail just shut his eyes and tried to focus on the sounds, not the pain. Such horrid pain was tearing through his mind due to a concussion as well as a black eye. The bridge of his nose had cracked and the pain that resulted from his constant pressure of his goggle's nose bridge on the injury made watery eyes an invariable part of the last 48 hours. Hot, burning pain assaulted the muscles in his left thigh and the right side of his abdomen. Those taser puncture wounds had gotten infected and the other two puncture marks continued to itch. Hugging his knees tightly, Mail curled up and tried to swallow down the pain that wanted to tear through his throat. Even the sound of his door opening didn't make him budge.

"Matt, we're here," Roger said coldly. "Now, before we go inside, you need to know a few things. First, none of the children in here know anything about what happened so don't mention it. Second, Near has gone through and wiped out all traces of your arrest and has gotten rid of all evidence of your existence resulting from this fiasco. Third, he's paid a large sum of money to the families involved to buy their silence." The brunette squeezed his eyes shut tighter and rocked himself on the seat. "You ungrateful brat," the older man sighed without much venom. "Not even a sign of thankfulness for Near giving a damn. Well, anyway. If anyone asks you what happened, don't answer."

With that, Roger placed a firm grip on Matt's shoulder and forced him out of the car.

* * *

**Author's notes: Writing Rester and Near is officially one of the hardest things I've EVER done. –dies- They have a strange dynamic. Oh, and I apologize for not writing back to the reviews I've been getting. I'm still reading them and appreciate each and every single one. **


	39. Paperweight

She had been walking on eggshells the entire time. Her hands were trembling, and those clouded eyes wouldn't turn in his direction. Flashes, memories flew by when they entered the apartment. Had it always been so small? The rooms were all shut behind identical peeled-paint doors with faded box numbers; one hid a room that had been his home for six years, a home where his loving mother raised him, educated him, and protected him. But he wasn't here for the room; watching Madame's wrinkled hand jiggle the key in the lock, Mihael almost couldn't keep his desire contained. With one last look around the hall, he stepped into the Madame's cold room. A broken gas heater slouched in the corner, not far from a small bed covered with a pile of thin blankets and an old electric blanket. Red flags went off in Mihael's mind as he took in the dingy apartment: one room, a small television with rabbit ears, canned sardines on the chipped coffee table. This was not the home of a successful and much feared Madame.

"I'm looking for my mother, Madame," he stated conversationally in Slovene. "I was too young to really understand, but you weren't. Besides, you made it your business to know everything about your…employees."

If she had looked concerned before, the Madame looked absolutely terrified as the young man stared her down. She took a seat, her face pale; she was a ghost of the woman he had known. "M-mihael, I do not know anything about that incident. She took you, remember? Jelka never said a thing to me."

Her palms were perspiring, her eyes shifting, her throat bobbing. "You're lying Madame," Mihael hissed, noting how she cowered away. Why was she so frightened of him? Didn't she remember forcing him to translate page of page of the English newspapers she obtained? Where was that woman? "What's wrong?" he whispered, leaning against the plaster wall. Anger was boiling in his veins, but it wasn't the time for that. "I was snatched out of my world years ago and thrust into a new environment to fend for myself. Now I'm alone again and I want to know one thing. Tell me what happened to my mother, to Jelka Keehl."

Grey eyes finally looked up to examine him. She was looking for something in him, and her drawn features told him that she had found it. "Mihael, I need you to swear on your mother's soul that you won't do anything to me. I won't say a word until you promise me that much."

More warning flags went up, but no alternatives. He needed her to talk, but it wasn't like he could just beat the information out of a frightened old lady. Gritting his teeth, he decided to play along with her games. "Fine. I swear on my mother's soul that I won't hurt you."

"Listen, boy, what I'm going to tell you are things that I've picked up and some of what I've managed to get from Jelka. I could just tell you that she is dead, forever lost from us, but this old woman has had enough of carrying around this weight." For a moment the tired grey eyes shone with hatred. "This is not my burden to carry, Mihael. And I won't bother to watch my words either." She seemed to have gained some of her former nastiness.

"Just tell me already."

"Your mother was just a whore sold to me by her mother in order for the money to send the beloved son to America for better schools. Only, the son took the money and ran, never to be heard from again. I won't deny that she was a good whore; men loved her beckoning lips and the sultry mannerisms she seemed born with. Much money was made off of her." The Madame paused for a moment, her mind reliving the former splendors of her life. "But then Jelka did something very stupid. She had become a favorite of one of our most lucrative benefactors, and when she got pregnant by him she refused the abortion. They were planning to run away and live happily together with their child."

"Yeah, and he got drunk the night before they were supposed to leave, got into a fight, and was killed leaving my mother alone to take care of me. I know, she told me all that."

"Wrong," the woman snapped. "A childish story to sate a too-curious child, Mihael. The truth is that your grandfather found out about his son's foolish idea and put an abrupt end to it. So, your father left you to your mother's fate. Unfortunately, your stupid mother just didn't know when to let things drop. She pushed and pushed and now she's dead for it." Her tone had been rising gradually, and now she was on the verge of shouting. "Don't you do it too, Mihael! She ruined me with her infinite selfishness and don't you dare take what's left from me! Let it end!"

Aquamarine eyes were locked on the solid wood floor, an unholy mix of emotions swirling in them. Wrath. Confusion. Indecision.

/_/_/_/

The headache had been pounding through his head for over a week now. Cold was nipping at his cheeks and nose, so he pulled the blanket up mid-face. Madame was humming a song that he wasn't familiar with as she struggled with the heater. Jelka was dead. But he had already known that. The look in her eyes before she ran away told him that much. So why did he come all the way out here? What good would it do to inquire any further? Would a curiosity-sated mind help him avenge L? Would pursuing this any further help him find Kira?

"Who's my father?" he found his lips asking mindlessly.

"I don't know," the hunched woman grumbled.

"Who's my father?"

"Forget about it, boy."

"Who's my father?"

Those steely eyes glared at him with the glow of a freshly kindled heat behind her. "I will have nothing to do with you if you keep this up."

"Madame, after tonight I'm sure that you'll have nothing to do with me anyway."

"I shouldn't have anything to do with you at all, you ingrate."

"You said that he was one of your best benefactors, so you know bloody well who he is. Just tell me and I'll leave you alone for good."

"Go to sleep," she grumbled, pulling a wool shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

Silence hung between them, only the thrum of the sputtering heater offering any sound. Mihael stared sleepily at the woman who had incited such fear in him as a child. Everything about this place felt wrong to him, like he had never been here at all. The bed was so hard and cold, the walls so dirty, the rooms so empty and forlorn. What happened to the happy childhood days of drawing with new Crayolas on old newspapers or of reading the same tattered copies of the_ National Geographic Magazine_? What happened to the warm soft beds, the comfort of hopes and dreams? What happened to days when a small square of chocolate was his treat for being a good boy when Mama came home? There was no Quillsh Wammy to save him this time.

"It's cold," he whispered.

For a moment it looked like the elderly woman hadn't heard him, but then she heaved herself up and nudged him to move over on the small bed. Her clawed hands pulled the blanket over the both of them and her nicotine infused breath washed over his numbing face. Exhausted, Mihael felt his eyes slip shut and sleep came to wrestle consciousness away from him. Scratchy words floated into his mind.

"Sometimes it's better not to know than to find out and be brokenhearted." The words were spoken with a strange sort of familiarity, the reminiscing twinge of regret. Then, she continued. "His name is Mikhail Ulyanov, and you can find him at their largest gentlemen's club…"

/_/_/_/

Wammy's House taught him how to be an excellent liar. The two guards didn't even think twice about letting the underage blonde "girl" with the innocent face and thick fur coat walk into their establishment, a gift from an accommodating brothel to pleasure the young master before she was sent to work in the streets. One of the men was even so kind as to direct "her" to Mikhail's office. They didn't pay much attention to the khaki pants tucked into lace-up boots.

Eurodance blasted from speakers while an overly skinny girl wiggled her hips as she removed articles of clothing. Lingerie-clad women served drinks and tried to keep their expressions pleasant as they got groped by the drunk patrons. This place was nothing but an overpriced strip club.

Being as inconspicuous as possible, Mihael made his way to the back room. There was a seat outside of the office door where a guard should have been, but no one was around. Shaking his head in disgust, he knocked on the stereotypically black door. This guy had to have watched too many American movies. A voice called out in the affirmative and he stepped into the warm office.

A pale finger was held up in a sign to be patient as the man yelled into phone in Russian. Wrinkle his brow, Mihael tried to understand what was being discussed. Damn it all, he shouldn't have focused so much on French and German. But then…

* * *

"_Vous avez l'air mignon," Matt whispered in his ear as Mello brushed his hair in front of their bathroom's mirror. The brunette's naked scarred hand rested on his hip and those unshielded blue eyes locked with his own in their reflection._

_A smile curled on his lips. "Mattie, you know that I can't understand what you're saying," he whined good-naturedly. "I'm not in any French classes."_

_The younger boy only smiled more widely "C'est pourquoi je parle en français. Je ne suis pas prêt à dire 'Je t'aime' en anglais pour le moment."_

"_Are you making fun of me?" Mello pouted, his eyes twinkling with the secret of studying hours of French on his own._

"_Nope," Matt laughed. "Je veux juste attendre le bon moment._"

_Mello's eyes softened. "Povej mi sedaj." He was ready to hear those words. "Tudi jaz te ljubim."_

_Matt just smiled back, blissfully unaware of what Mello had told him so honestly. "Yeah, I'm hungry too."_

* * *

It made so much sense back then, but what a foolish and impractical thing.

"Okay, just do what I said! Yeah, goodbye." Turning from the phone to face the door, Mikhail froze with a fake smile plastered on his face.

Mihael held his breath as he studied the young man seated in front of him. Brown hair was cropped in a short stylish cut, brown eyes were wide, the sharp angular facial features were clean-shaven, and an expensive European suit clung to his thin yet healthy frame. It was a shock to see this man who was supposed to be his father, but not for any of the stereotypical reasons of how it was like looking in a mirror or the overwhelming love of bonding with the man. In fact, it was almost the exact opposite. The man in front of him didn't look anything like him, much less like a _father_. He was too young, not blonde, not blue eyed or green eyed, and just nothing like him.

"Who-"

Before Mihael had a chance to voice his confusion, the young man jumped out of his seat and tackled him into a hug. "Jelka!" he cried before smothering kisses all over the stunned boy's face. "How did you, no, it doesn't matter, I thought you didn't want me! But you're back!" After receiving an aggressive kiss to his lips, Mihael shoved the man away and wiped his lips in disgust.

"I'm not Jelka!" he shouted, the anger flashing through his eyes.

A blush of embarrassment dusted the man's face before he took a step back. "B-but…who are you?"

"Are you Mikhail?" the blond questioned snappishly.

"Of course," he muttered, the look of discomfort becoming clearer.

Illogical rage began to swell in the young man's chest. This guy was so…so…it wasn't fair. His mother was dead, for no reason whatsoever, and this idiot was running a cheap strip club and dressing in $1000 suits? "W-what happened to Jelka?" he found himself asking. "Didn't you care enough to find out, Mikhail? Didn't you love her?"

The uncomfortable expression spread across the young man's face. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but you need to get out of here before I get my guards to escort you out."

"What exactly was she to you?" he hissed, all rational thought being squeezed out of his weary mind. "I mean, didn't you ever give a bloody second of thought to your _child_?"

Disbelief began to fill Mikhail's eyes. "How did you know about that? Jelka's baby died in childbirth, he died! I saw the body, I buried the body! The Madame handed me the fucking body!"

Blood drained from Mihael's face. Shoving the taller man against the solid oak desk, the boy stared down the man with frantic cold eyes. "And that was it? They handed you a body and you decided to forget that she existed? You didn't bother to find out for sure, you didn't bother to ask her anything? You didn't even care?"

"You don't know anything!" Mikhail shouted, shoving the shorter boy off of him. "Get out of my office, now!" he roared, the panic lacing his voice.

It was a moment of insanity. There was anger and there was a paperweight; problem solved. It was surprising how there was a definite absence of remorse as the warm blood sprayed on his face and his hand swung back for more momentum. It was like he was reading through yet another file in class.

Classic disassociation. Crime of passion. Temporary insanity.

And laughter?

The blood was a lot warmer than he would have thought it to be. In fact, it was hot against his cold skin, a burning, accusing reminder. Not that he needed a reminder of what he had just done. Looking down at the twitching body, Mihael swallowed thickly before dropping the pyramid-shaped weapon. His breaths were coming in short bursts as the adrenaline rushed through his arteries. Being mindful to wipe his fingerprints from the weapon, the blond turned to leave when something unexpected caught his eye. A pair of wide frightened eyes were staring directly at him from the overly plush couch cushions.

"A-are you g-gonna hurt me too?" the small voice questioned in quavering Slovene. "Like y-you hurt Papa?"

/_/_/_/

Stumbling through the snow, Mihael couldn't shake the image from his mind. He had never had the gift of a photographic memory like Matt did, but this was a scene that was seared so deeply into his cortex that he wouldn't be able to forget it if he tried. Frozen blood clung to his chin, but it wasn't his own liquid life; it wasn't like his mother's blood which stained the pure snow around her.

Frightened eyes, accusing him of being the very thing he was taught to hunt and destroy.

He had lost control and now it was going to haunt him. They were going to come after him, and he didn't even know who "they" were. It was a fear, but one of the unexpected. Pushing open the rotting door, he stepped into the small space and his eyes locked with the steely gray of the Madame. Time was running out and he needed answers. It was obvious that she saw the blood and a look of resignation came over her features.

"You handed him a dead body."

"Did you kill him, Mihael?"

"Yes." The word came out unnaturally easy. "What haven't you told me?"

Setting down her cigarette, she stared at her small heater and let the heat reflect from her weary eyes. "Your grandfather wanted Jelka and the child gone for good so that his son would no longer be distracted by foolish ideas. He was going to force an abortion on her, but she gave birth before he had a chance to do anything. It was such an early birth, but it couldn't have been avoided. Jelka gave birth to identical twin boys. Gavril and Mihael."

A new pain was tearing through his insides; he didn't want to hear what she would say next. "So…"

"It was either one of you or both of you, so Jelka made her choice. She strangled her son to death with his umbilical cord to make it look like he was stillborn. Then, she hid with you while I presented the dead child to your father and grandfather. I explained that she was weak and traumatized by the birth and that she would never be trouble for them again. They took my word and the child and promised to leave my business and my girls alone so long as she kept her end."

Those loving touches, those adoring smiles, those sad expressions as she watched him grow all took a new light in his memories. It wasn't sadness at not being able to provide a better life for him, but it was the guilt of killing her own child. Blissfully unaware, he had soaked in her affection selfishly, always feeling empty and unfulfilled. No amount of attention had ever been enough, no amount of love could quench his desire for more. Who knew that the answer to his desperate need rested in his missing half, his split soul who had departed the earth before awareness had even made its presence?

"Why didn't she kill me?" he found himself asking with morbid curiosity.

Madame shrugged. "I didn't care to ask."

"One thing doesn't make a lot of sense to me," he mumbled, staring at the blood that was glistening on the borrowed fur coat. "Who the hell is my grandfather that you guys would fear and obey his command to kill?"

A mostly toothless grin split across her aged face. "Vitaly Ulyanov. Convicted black hand of the Russian mafia who carried out an undetermined number of kidnappings, tortures, and murders. He was sent to what is now called Slovenia by the head of the organization in order to avoid being taken in by the Russian police, so Vitaly created a branch of the mafia here and then let it grow through the entire country like a terminal cancer."

Feet pounded in the hallway, but Mihael made no move to run away. Madame sat comfortably in her chair, smiling into the heated ceramic plates. "They" would be there at any moment.

/_/_/_/

Nate. The devil. Evil. Weird. Freak. Unwanted, unloved.

Staring unblinkingly at the television that revealed more of Kira's killings. He needed to contemplate this new information with the information he received from Watari's computer. Much of the data had been corrupted, probably due to a mass deletion command. One finger found comfort in his tousled hair as his other hand comfortingly made its way over the pieces of his incomplete puzzle. Usually he would throw away the imperfect toy, but this one held a special meaning to him. It was the same set that he saw Mello hovering over the day he decided to leave Wammy's House. With those trembling fingers he had plucked away the cornerstone and shoved it into the left pocket of his tight cargo pants. Tracing his fingertips over the empty slot on the flawed white surface, Nate felt the familiar tug of emotions in his chest.

"Near?"

Jumping in surprise, Nate turned his head to glare disapprovingly at the behemoth of a man who was towering over him. "Can I help you, Commander Carter? I would appreciate your not sneaking around our hotel room."

The man shrugged his shoulders, obviously unconcerned with his stealth techniques. "There's something that's been bothering me."

"Just one something?"

Chuckling, Anthony nodded. "Just one thing for now. I've noticed that you haven't had a proper shower since we've been together. What's the reason for that?"

Curling on himself some, Nate began to analyze the different reasons that his subordinate would question his cleanliness habits. Frowning irritably, he stared up at the man without blinking. "I take sponge baths."

"That's why I included the word 'proper' in my question."

"It's none of your business," the boy spat out, glancing at his puzzle.

There was a sigh, and then the Commander squatted down to get eye-to-eye level with his superior. "We're going to be around each other for a while, Near. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not be hanging around a stinky kid."

With a sigh of his own, Near finally allowed himself to blink. "I've never taken a shower by myself."

Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, Anthony almost called it a bluff. However, he wasn't able to detect any deceit in the boy's face…not that he could detect much of anything in the first place. "If that's the only thing holding you back, then let me offer you my well-seasoned skills at bathing."

"I'm going to ignore the strange sentence structure you chose to use," Nate replied as he turned back towards the television screen. "However, if my not taking a, and I quote, 'proper shower' is holding you back from your required services, then I shall take you up on your strange offer. After all, nothing should get in the way of solving a case."

"You're welcome," Anthony chuckled with a smile.

/_/_/_/

Cradling the broken Gameboy, Matt felt the ghost of tears in his eyes. "I didn't mean to," he whispered to the gaming system. "Sorry, I'm sorry…"

Just a moment ago, he had been filled to the brim with fury, throwing the precious treasure against the wall and cursing it out. Now, its cracked screen revealed nothing but a blank emptiness. He didn't mean to break it, but with every day that passed it seemed like his control seemed to slip away. Sometimes he would forget that he wasn't trapped in the world of his mind and that he was actually physically playing out the sick fantasies of his mind. Just the other day he realized that he was standing on the edge of the windowsill and there was no Mello to catch him. The fall wouldn't have killed him, but it was the very thought that he was beginning to blur reality and his fantasy which caused concern.

Didn't crazy people do that?

Weren't his parents crazy?

The throbbing pain left from the infections that resulted from his being tasered had only been the start, and the constant aches and pains seemed to suck away all of his energy. A teacher had run off after he threw plates at her; the shattered remains still rested in front of his bedroom door. Roger hadn't bothered with him yet, but he was sure that it wouldn't be much longer. Holding the ruined device in his arms like a newborn child, Matt allowed himself to rest on the floor. Being angry took a lot of effort and he had overexerted himself.

Staring at the untouched novel that rested on Mello's desk, Matt found himself wondering again. If Mello was striking out on his own, then he would need to establish a name for himself. However, with Kira on the rise and L supposedly working to bring him down, being a detective didn't seem to be a job in high demand. Besides, no one was going to seriously consider a kid for such a dangerous line of work. Mello would have to be sneaky, and he would have to cheat. Or, he could establish a persona over the internet, solving crimes without having to ever personally be there. Then again, Mello was not a fan of computers; although he wasn't completely inept at using them, he had always gotten frustrated with Matt's effortless abilities to bend the technology to his will. This always resulted in his giving up before he could finish learning certain techniques.

Matt loved being better than Mello, but he had always been careful to walk the fine line of not angering the blonde. Near hadn't been able to play that game very well, but he had. It was supposed to stay that way forever. This was bloody ridiculous. Dragging himself to his feet, Matt shuffled out of his room, completely ignorant of his surroundings. There was a thought in his mind, and it wouldn't let go. The ranking paper hung in its usual spot with Near in the lead, Mello on his heels, and Matt at a comfortable and yet not reproachful slot behind him. The ranking project would have been difficult if he had been like all of the other kids, but he hadn't spared it more than 10 lovely pages. Walking to the internet-less computer in the empty classroom across from the scores, he took a seat. Only him and a Word document. Twitchy, agitated fingers began to clack away at the keyboard as the jumpy, unfocused mind began to dump all of the information he had gleaned from helping Mello study. Those nights of asking questions particularly slow just to see the blonde nod off for a few seconds of rest, of offering comforting hugs and reassuring words.

He wanted to cry again, but the emotions found themselves being stuffed back down into his mind's box of pent-up emotions. Each and every word read and spoken rung through his mind with startling clarity. Each book that he read with and for Mello regurgitated its contents in the open spaces of his brain. The sunlight faded in the room and he worked on, completely unaware.

Then it was done. The paper that Mello should have produced. The paper that he would have produced if only he had taken a few more hours of rest.

Dropping the novel-length analysis in front of Roger's office, Matt found himself wandering past the noisy cafeteria and heading back to his cold room.

/_/_/_/

"Look, I know that you want to convict this guy of raping children, but I just can't find any way to do that." Rester rubbed his temples gingerly as he leaned away from his computer. "The people in this area absolutely adore him and there is no hint of any kind of deviant behavior on record for him. Not even the usual teen rebellion."

Focusing on drawing all moisture out of his recently washed hair, Nate tilted his head. "Doesn't that strike you as something odd, Commander? Here is a man who has lived in this area all of his life and yet there is nothing on record that would put a smudge on his lovely record. Not even a speeding ticket."

Swiveling the chair to better see his superior, Anthony held back a smile at the adorable way that Near was patting dry his hair with the fluffy towel. "It's unusual, yes, but not impossible. He's not the only person in the world with a clean record."

"Of course not, but who are the people most likely to have a flawless legal record?"

"Criminals," the older man answered easily.

"And those with something to hide," Nate added absentmindedly. He hated the wet feeling that was currently covering his scalp.

"So, how do you want to proceed? I honestly can't think of anything to do to convict him of anything much less rape."

Allowing his slate eyes to turn the focus to Anthony Carter, the boy replied without missing a beat. "We're going to catch him in the act. Commander, you will serve as my pimp and you shall offer your wares to our criminal."

It took the older man a few minutes to analyze the child's words and decide that he was being absolutely serious. "You want me to…to approach this man with the possibility of…violating you? And what if he says no? I mean, why would he even take me seriously? No, but that wouldn't matter because he could be an upstanding citizen and he could make a call to the local officials which is something that we don't want."

"Don't look so surprised. The strategy makes sense. We need to prepare materials that would entice our target, you will approach him and his wife with the materials, and set a date for him to molest me. Once that's accomplished, we will contact the local police and inform them about what's going to happen. On the agreed upon day, an established pimp for child prostitutes will go to his house with a child and they will be arrested by the police. The young boy under their care will have to undergo the rape kit, and once it's established that he is a victim of sexual abuse those two criminals will be locked up. After their cover has been blown, other children will undoubtedly come forward and add to the list of crimes committed by those two."

"Sounds like a stretch," Mr. Carter mumbled thoughtfully. "First, how exactly do we prepare these materials? I could photoshop some stuff, but I would still need to look up some base material which could get me flagged by the FBI. Then, there's no guarantee that he will take the bait and agree with the meet. Even if they were guilty and agreed on a date, how are we exactly going to acquire a pimp and child prostitute? There are too many variables and too many risks."

"Are you actually a Green Beret Commander?" the pale boy deadpanned. "Instead of wasting your time on arguing why it's impossible to do what I'm telling you we're going to do, use your energy to make it happen."

Nodding in resignation, the former Army officer looked right into the unnaturally empty grey eyes. "The materials?"

Nate swallowed thickly, hoping that it wouldn't be noticeable to his subordinate. "Do you have a camera, or do we need to buy one?"

/_/_/_/

Heavy breathing echoed in the closet-like room, adding to the claustrophobia. The glowing light bulb continued to glare down from the ceiling, a mockery of the sunlight he had not been able to witness for who knows how long. He had at one point prided himself on having a faultless internal clock, but that was before…this. His swollen, bitten tongue dragged across the dried blood caked on his lips, and swollen eyes winced as the tongue prodded the wound that provided such an issue of blood as to stain the lower half of his face. Fingers that weren't dislocated flexed lightly, the broken fingernails lightly scraping against the once-smooth surface of the table.

It was hard to remember why he was here most of the time. Even harder was trying to remember where he was supposed to be. This wasn't part of the plan…but what was the plan? Bloodshot turquoise eyes stared at the same damn wall counting the same old spots and smears of blood while he tried to force his exhausted brain to get in order. Dark eyes, wild hair. Tender moment. Moments where cold hands soothed over palms, or where gentle lips promised sweet nothings before offering the fount of happiness.

A name, the Letter, died on his lips as the door behind him creaked open. Hell was coming for him again and his legs were trembling. Panic was rising, a primal terror, a desperate begging for it all to end. End.

End.

End.

End…

* * *

**Author's notes: Hehehe, I'm excited to have gotten this up so quickly (according to my standards, lol) and I'm already working on the next chapter. In case you were wondering, here are the translations for what Matt and Mello said during their fluffy exchange in the flashback:**

**Matt said: "You look cute." "That's why I'm speaking in French. I'm not ready to say 'I love you' in English yet." and "I just want to wait for the right moment."**

**Mello said: "Tell me now." and "I love you too."**

**Thanks for taking the time to read this! Out of curiosity, how many of you had actually anticipated my plot twists regarding Mello's part of the story?**


	40. Incidents

"_Thou poor human heart!  
So soon in the spring are thy leaves broken  
and the feathers torn from the wings!  
…We learn to stand and to walk, to speak and to read,  
but no one teaches us love._

_It is inherent in us like life, they say,  
and is the very deepest foundation of our existence.  
As the heavenly bodies incline to and attract each other,  
and will always cling together  
by the everlasting law of gravitation,  
so heavenly souls incline to and attract each other,  
and will always cling together by the everlasting law of love._

_A flower cannot blossom without sunshine,  
a man cannot live without love._

…_The ardent yearning, which then awakes in the child,  
is the purest and deepest love.  
It is the love which embraces the whole world,  
which shines resplendent wherever the eyes of men beam upon it,  
which exults wherever it hears the human voice…_

_But, alas, how little remains of this love  
by the time we have finished one-half of our life-journey!  
Soon the child learns that there are strangers,  
and ceases to be a child.  
The spring of love becomes hidden and soon filled up._

…_and of this fountain of love there remain but a few drops.  
We still call these few drops love,  
but it is no longer the clear, fresh, all-abounding child-love.  
It is love with anxiety and trouble…_

_a consuming flame…_

_a burning passion…_

_Love which says 'Wilt thou be mine,'  
not love which says, 'I _must _be thine.'  
It is a most selfish, vacillating love."_

_ ~Max Müller in _Memories: A Story of German Love

* * *

"I feel…like a pervert."

"Commander, you are a pervert."

Throwing a quick glare at the young boy in front of him, Anthony turned his attention back to the box in between them. The cardboard vessel was stock full of all manner of sexual devices that were generally reserved for the curious and adventurous couples. Or three-somes. The large man shuddered at that thought.

"Is this enough?" he questioned hoping that it was. After all, it was embarrassing enough going to seedy stores in order to get the necessary supplies. "Women and men had made passes at him and nosy cashiers asked very personal questions with the expectation of being answered honestly.

Picking up a large dildo that looked like it belonged on the stereotypical horny black male, Nate nodded impassively. "This should be enough for our photo shoot. Prepare the camera."

"Are you-" Before he could finish his question, Anthony found his mouth snapping shut at the absolutely livid glare that his superior was gracing him with.

"Commander, this is what needs to be done. Do not make this any more difficult than it needs to be."

He didn't want the man fretting over him all the time. It would just mean more opportunities for him to see his discomfort and his trembling. As soon as the Anthony turned around to fiddle with the equipment, Nate allowed himself a moment of deep breathing and shaking. It was impossible to not have flashbacks of unhappy moments. Those moments of overwhelming pain. With a firm shake of his head, he forced himself to ignore all discomfort and began to remove his clothing. The faster this was done, the faster he could get back to the comfort behind his mask.

"Near, I think-" The man's question was cut short as he choked on the words which resulted in a strange coughing sound. Both eyes were widened in shock and his mouth fell slack as he stared at the pale naked boy that was taking a tentative lick of the head a small dildo. "What are you doing?" he practically squeaked.

Nate would have begun to ridicule the large man, but his currently nude position made it a tactical disadvantage to be mocking anyone. "I'm preparing my throat for the sexual acts that I'll have to engage in during the photo shoot."

"Y-yeah, but…"

"Commander, if you can't help me then leave immediately. I have no use for someone who refuses to do the work that I demand."

Biting his tongue, Anthony Carter just nodded and brought the camera towards the young boy. With a grimace, he knelt down and began to take the revolting pictures. It made his stomach churn uncomfortably as he watched the small-statured child impassively shove the sex toy down his throat. But doing this job was preferable to leaving this kid on his own to look for a quick replacement. Really, who was to say that the next guy wasn't going to be a pervert and take advantage of Near? As he began to disassociate himself from taking the lewd pictures, it was easy for his thoughts to go back to when he gave Near a shower. The boy had been stock-still, curled up in a seated fetus position. Those grey eyes had looked pained and uncomfortable, as if he didn't want to be in such a vulnerable position. It made perfect sense. This boy didn't truly know who he was and had every right to doubt his morality; after all, they were complete strangers. Yes, Near had minimized the chances of working with a rapist by getting a man with an impeccably clean record and outstanding performance, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that a person's whole life had been recorded and analyzed completely.

Now, here he was, completely naked and spitting on the large, black cock/dildo. "Why do you have to spit on it?" he questioned half-heartedly. It was partially out of curiosity, and mostly a feeble attempt at making conversation.

Near paused in his attempt to lube the toy up and tilted his head in thought. The question sounded honest enough, and from Anthony's body language he was most definitely _not _getting off on this. Such observations made him feel a little more comfortable. "It's hard to shove this giant silicone rubber device down my throat when it's dry. When it's dry it gets stuck and catches to the flesh in my mouth. Once you lick it, the saliva acts as a lubricant and the device slides into the oral orifice much easier."

"Ah," the commander explained with a disturbed nod. "That's pretty big…are you even going to try to, uh, give it oral?"

"Well, it might be a little difficult…Commander, come over here and lend me your leg."

Anthony shuddered but complied. He didn't need to be chewed out again. Scooting in front of the large man's legs, Nate settled the base of the dildo on the thigh in front of him at his current mouth level. Using both hands to steady the toy, he began working his mouth around the tip before moving further along its length. His eyes watered as his mouth was stretched uncomfortably, but he kept pushing until it hit the back of his throat. After years of practicing deepthroating, it was surprisingly easy to forget all the little rules to keep from gagging. Coughing and sputtering, Nate pulled away to try to calm down the gag reflex; saliva sprayed on Anthony's cargo pants as the boy tried to regain a regular breathing pattern.

"Near!" Kneeling down quickly, Anthony began to pat the child's back firmly.

A swat from the tiny hands stopped the too-rough treatment and Nate took a deep breath. "I'm fine," he croaked. "But it might be better to switch to something other than fellatio."

The large man grimaced at the implication. "We don't have to go far, Near. These are just teaser pictures."

"Fine. Then one picture of anal penetration should suffice. Let's get this done quickly so that we can get rid of these offensive objects." Unfortunately, he wasn't moving fast enough to hide the tremble in his frame. Anthony would be able to see it, and there was nothing that he could do to disguise it. The flaming pain of an old injury simmered in his hip, dragging those dirty feelings up. "I can't do the penetration myself," he hissed, both eyes screwed shut as he fell onto his back. "It would be an awkward and possibly painful position, it would be better for…well, C-commander, take care of it."

Looking down at the cringing child, Anthony felt wretched. But wasn't it better for him to do such a thing than for someone cruel and disgusting. This was just a smart tactical move in order to get the attention of a child rapist. It was business, nothing personal, and Near wouldn't hold it against him.

Holding his breath, Nate waited for that hateful feeling of being invaded and violated. He was vulnerable to the overwhelming physical strength of this man above him and should Anthony not be the impeccable man that his record suggested, then this would be yet another assault on his body. There was the sound of movement and he almost couldn't hold back a whimper of dread. However, instead of the sharp, burning pain in his arse, there was the distinct camera click.

"There, that's good enough, Near. I'll photo edit these pictures to make them look more realistic and then we'll move on with the plan. I'll approach Mr. Childress tomorrow afternoon at the church organized potluck."

/_/_/_/

"What's the meaning of this?"

Old, wrinkled hands held up a stack of papers in the air before setting them gently on the surface of the cherry wood desk.

"It's Mello's report," Matt mumbled distractedly, disliking his current position of being out of his room. He seemed to have been losing control of his mind, speaking things that should only be thought or doing things that were only fantasy. There was no barrier between his conscious and unconscious and dealing with people only made it worse.

"Matt…there are children who say that they saw you place this report in front of my office after working on it for two hours. I read through this."

"It's Mello's report," he replied again, examining the room for the quickest escape route. "He meant to turn that in, but he's not here so I had to do it for him."

Roger steepled his fingers and studied the boy in front of him. Matt had become a ticking bomb, much like that Beyond Birthday had been. Who was to say how long it would take before this boy would snap? It was truly a tragedy. "I graded this paper, and do you want to know how well it did?"

"Mmmhmm. So I can tell Mello when he gets back. He'll be happy, 'cause I know he worked really hard on it. I know 'cause I helped him study."

"Matt, this report is flawless. It covers every conceivable angle, it was thorough and concise, and there was the added bonus of it being written in different languages to get across certain cultural nuances."

"Cool."

"Do you understand what that means?" Roger questioned, his voice slow as if he were talking to a mentally retarded kid.

"It means that Mello rocks."

"Matt, this test scored considerably higher than Near's test score."

"Of course," Matt snorted. "Mello's way better than Near. When he can shove all that crazy energy back and think like a sane person then he would totally rule the world."

It was getting worse, Roger realized. Matt was not coping with the situation and he was purposefully refusing to see what was being presented to him. "Matt, _your _paper scored higher than both Mello and Near's did. You could have easily been number one in this House."

"Nope, nuh uh. Never. See, I'm like Jack's little Jill. I'll jump down that hill with him, tumbling after, but I will never make him fall after me. I'll fix that broken crown. I would take care of him and clear out the path."

There was no more patience left in Roger and he slammed his hand against the desk. "Matt, you need to snap out of it! Mello and Near left to do something dangerous and important! They're going to take down that damned Kira and all the while you're moping around the house causing trouble for everyone! Don't you realize that you're mocking their efforts by pouting and acting difficult!"

Matt felt the warning flags go up. At this point, he needed to shut his mouth, say sorry, and get on with his life. "I never wanted to be at this damn orphanage," he hissed venomously. "I never wanted to be separated from _my baby sister_!" Another breath in, just shut up now. "And then, I never wanted to be better than Mello, and you know why? Because I don't give a rat's arse about fucking L and Watari! They've screwed up my whole damn life and they ruined my Mello! He was fucking happy, but they had to push and they had to tear away who he was so that he could fit into their fucking little mold of the wonderful, fucking selfish, L!"

Rage was evident in Roger's face and even the foreign emotion of hurt flashed in his eyes.

* * *

"_Quillsh, really?" he groaned as they stood in front of a mansion that had fallen into disrepair. "An orphanage for gifted children? That makes it sound like you're going to take in all the addlepated children of the world."_

"_Exactly," Quillsh chuckled. No one would really suspect that I'm actually going to be developing the next generation of genii."_

_Roger looked at the mansion with a grimace. "I hate children you know. They whine and complain, and then blame you for everything to goes wrong in their lives. Rotten things."_

"_Hahahaha! Don't be such a pessimist, Roger." Those chestnut eyes sparkled in mirth. "Children are full of energy, happiness, and the mind-set that they can do anything. They haven't been stained by the world's oppression yet, and this place will protect them from that for as long as possible. These children will love us, Roger, and thank us for what we have done."_

_The shorter of the two men paused for a moment, to try to imagine what the house for orphans would look like down through the years. "I'll go bald, you know."_

"_As will I, my old friend. As will I."_

_

* * *

_"Get out." The spoken words were filled with nothing short of wrath, and Roger stood to his full height to glare down at the teenager. "Get the bloody hell out, you ungrateful git."

There was no room for questions or discussion. Feeling strangely calm, Matt stood up and turned on his heel. Roger didn't call him back and Matt didn't say goodbye. As soon as the office door clicked shut, hot tears tremblingly fell to the back of wrinkled hands. These children were all that was left of Quillsh Wammy's dream.

/_/_/_/

"Honey? Would like some of 'em mashed 'taters?"

Gerald nodded his head, forcing words past his heavy, numb lips. "Jus' a little."

Evelyn smiled weakly at her husband. Ever since that "incident" she had been tested and tried to the very edge of her sanity. She loved Gerald, the man who had swept her off of her feet all those years ago, who held her hand as she gave birth to their children. She loved him. But she couldn't keep lying to herself; Aaron, their newest adopted child laughed excitedly as the children played a game of freeze tag. His limited mental capacity had proved to be a challenge to her, and one that she didn't want to take. Life was hard enough with having to take care of Gerald's every want and desire, but now she had to deal with babying their child.

'_He can't help it,' _she chided herself mentally as she spoon fed her husband. _'It's not his fault that such a terrible thing happened to him.' _Oh yes it was, and she knew it. _'He needs all the support that he can get and that's a proper Christian wife's duty to love and support her husband no matter what.' _Even if it included such unspeakable things? _'Till death do we part.'_

"Hi there, you must be Gerald," a pleasant voice called from the side of the heavyset man.

Turning his attention away from his wife as she chatted with other Christian women, Gerald faced a tall, muscular man with steel-colored hair, whisps of white coming through in the hair directly above his ears. The man was smiling and he took a seat. "Well, hello there, stranger. Gerald's my name all right. Who might you be?"

"Just a traveling salesman," the man said smoothly, his eyes glancing directly towards the group of children that were playing on the grass. "The name's Smart. James Smart."

Gerald found his own eyes being drawn to the sight of those excitable critters squealing and running. Shorts and shirts rode up, offering such a lovely view. "Glad ta have you here, James."

"Mmm, thanks. Lovely view, isn't it?"

Glancing sideways at the man, Gerald was surprised to see the sly smile gracing the man's lips as he soaked in the scene of the children playing. It had been a long time since he had seen that type of smile. "Indeed. What did you say you were here for?" His tone, although polite, definitely carried a bit of serious questioning.

"Oh, I just sell services for a bit and then move on. I've decided to make a stop here in this lovely city."

"What services?"

Grinning, the man winked at Gerald. "Entertainment stuff, mostly. You know, the good stuff. Fresh."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, exactly," Gerald mumbled half-heartedly. He turned back to look at his wife and saw her frown before she turned her attention back to her current conversation.

"That's okay," Mr. Smart said as he pulled a discreet black business card with his name and number on it. In the corner of the card was a small symbol that immediately caught the disfigured man's attention. The scroll letters K and P were bumped against each other with a crown topping them. "Give me a call if you are ever interested."

Gerald stared suspiciously at the man, and Mr. Smart just stood with a smile before he went back to socializing with other church members.

A day later, Anthony Carter jerked awake to the sound of his cellular phone ringing. Swiping it off of the coffee table, he flipped it open and stifled a yawn as he greeted the person on the other line. "Good morning!" Near, who was busy cutting shapes of people out of folded paper, looked up and stared at him without any hint of what he was thinking.

"G'morning, Mr. Smart. This is, ah, Gerald. We met at the potluck yesterday."

"Yes, of course!" he replied politely. "How can I help you today?"

"Well, I was thinking that I've been a little bored lately and could use some more entertainment. You sold services, right? Entertainment services?"

"Only the best, Gerald. Hey, how about this? I'll drop by your place for a quick visit and I'll bring my portfolio. That way, you can look before deciding to buy."

"Sounds good," Gerald agreed eagerly. "The missus will be out at around 3 pm, so why not come over then?"

"Sure thing! I'll see you then." Glaring at the phone in his hand, he flipped it shut. "I'll be showing him the pictures around 3 in the afternoon. Will you be okay in here?"

"Commander, I assure you that I can handle myself. I did just fine yesterday."

The man chuckled. "Near, you tried to microwave eggs in their shells."

While a normal person would have flushed in embarrassment, Near just shrugged. "I have not failed in my attempt to cook. I have merely discovered one more way to _not _cook."

"Well, I'll make sure to not leave you hungry this time." Rubbing his bleary eyes, Anthony stood and made his way to the kitchenette in their motel room.

/_/_/_/

With a false smile plastered on his face, Anthony began to show off the pictures exactly the way Near had commanded him to do. In his hands were pictures of children in the act of vulgar activities that had been hacked from the internet. Why they didn't just stick to using these images in the first place still baffled his mind. If Near could do such a thing without worrying about the FBI getting them, then what was the purpose of all those pictures that he took of Near?

Gerald nodded his head in appreciation, but he didn't seem particularly interested. Instead, he seemed content to just look at the pictures; it might be difficult to convince him to actually have a child coming to his home.

"I hope that you've enjoyed the lovely pictures," he purred with a grin.

"Some of these are very nice," Gerald agreed. "You must be quite the professional in the industry, Mr. Smart, to have such a wide variety."

Anthony nodded his head excitably. "Yes, yes, but you know what? I like you Gerald. I like you a lot. You're not like a lot of these people that just get off on these kids and then forgets about them. No, you're way better than that. I couldn't help but notice that you've been taking good care of the kids that you've engaged in relationships. Now, I'm not going to ask for you to adopt any of my employees, but I like how you're going to remember them and think fondly of them."

"Thanks," the grotesque man replied proudly, his ruined lips struggling to form into a proper smile.

"In fact, I like you enough to show you one more little morsel." Leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially, Anthony forced excitement into his voice. "This boy here has been under my personal tutelage for several years. There isn't a finer piece of ass on this continent and he'll still be able to perform even into his adult years. He's the perfect specimen of childish qualities."

Gerald tilted his head forward to express his interest. "Well, let's see this little beauty."

Pulling out the last stack of photographs, the ex-Commander forced himself to hand those photos over. Now this pig would see Near so vulnerable and exposed. It made his blood boil, but he carefully trained his face to remain pleasant and encouraging. What happened next completely surprised him.

First, Gerald froze at the first image which was a picture of the back of Near's head as he was performing fellatio on a the hot pink dildo. His eye squinted critically as he took in the grainy image, and then he began to flip through the pictures quickly. With each photo he looked at, his mouth slacked a little more and his eyes glazed. The man's face had reddened and broken out in a sweat, and he swallowed thickly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, feigning concern, and hiding his curiosity.

"This…where did you get this kid?"

"Sorry, but I'm strictly under confidentiality agreements," he covered up quickly. "Do you like him?"

Gerald focused intently on the pictures and almost looked fond. His finger trailed down the boy's body in the picture of Near on his back with his face screwed up in terror. "How much for him?" he whispered.

It took Anthony a moment to register the question. "Uh, actually, how about a trial run? You've been nothing but hospitable to me, and I want you to understand how much I respect the consumers in this industry. I generally charge a higher fee than my competitors, but I always offer bonuses for my loyal customers."

The other man nodded. "Yes, I'd like to see him again. I mean, I'd like to see him in action on me. Now, I've got terrible damage to my own equipment. Do you offer toys that I can use and even strap-ons so that I can fuck this beauty?"

"Of course! Are variety is the widest this side of the Rocky's."

Gerald licked his lips slowly and nodded. "Bring him on Saturday."

"We'll see you then," Anthony agreed over a handshake.

/_/_/_/

The photographs were thrown non-too-gently in front of him and Near looked up to see the stern commander. "Yes?"

"He took the bait, Near. Just like you said he would. Actually, I wasn't sure that I'd be able to get him to commit to seeing a kid in real life, but then he came across your pictures."

"And? Why are you so surprised that I was right?"

"Nate Childress!" Anthony blurted out, his cheeks reddening. It seemed wrong to speak the name.

Nate blinked slowly, taking his time in replying. "Commander, you've been snooping where you have no right to."

"But why would you do this! Why would you force yourself to have those pictures taken when all it would do it make you remember such horrible things!"

A darkening expression made itself known on Nate's features. "Everyone who looks upon my frail body falls prey to the impression that I am a weak and helpless lamb, scared and ill prepared to enter the world of wolves. Let me assure you that this is not the case." Even as his words stung with harsh emotion, his eyes remained blank. "This is a stepping stone towards defeating Kira as well as the exertion of a personal vendetta. Gerald and Evelyn Childress are pigs, and they deserve nothing better than to be shanked while suffering horrors in prison."

"Nate…"

With a sigh, Nate began to twirl his hair. "Commander, you understand that Kira can only kill if he knows a name and face, which is exactly what he does not know about me. Nate Childress is not my name, but I would still advise you to refrain from uttering that name in connection with me. I am Near."

Setting his mouth in a firm line, Anthnoy nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, and one more thing. Your new name will be Rester."

"Rester?" the man chuckled. "Where do you come up with these names?"

_Rescuer_.

/_/_/_/

Heavy breathing echoed in the closet-like room, adding to the claustrophobia. The glowing light bulb continued to glare down from the ceiling, a mockery of the sunlight he had not been able to witness for who knows how long. He had at one point prided himself on having a faultless internal clock, but that was before…this. His swollen, bitten tongue dragged across the dried blood caked on his lips, and swollen eyes winced as it prodded the wound that provided such an issue of blood as to stain the lower half of his face. Fingers that weren't dislocated flexed lightly, the broken fingernails lightly scraping against the once-smooth surface of the table.

It was hard to remember why he was here most of the time. Even harder was trying to remember where he was supposed to be. This wasn't part of the plan…but what was the plan? Bloodshot turquoise eyes stared at the same damn wall counting the same old spots and smears of blood while he tried to force his exhausted brain to get in order. Dark eyes, wild hair. Tender moment. Moments where cold hands soothed over palms that were now bleeding, or where gentle lips promised sweet nothings before offering the fount of happiness.

A name died on his lips as the door behind him creaked open. Hell was coming for him again and his legs were trembling. Panic was rising, a primal terror, a desperate begging for it all to end. End.

End.

End.

End…

"Well, if it isn't my favorite little friend." The voice was sickeningly sweet, an enticement overlaid with a thick Russian accent and undertoned with danger. "How are you doing? It's been a while since I've seen you."

Even if he had wanted to offer a reply, Mihael's throat was too parched and scratched up for it.

"It's going to be interesting to see if you will enjoy our time together as much as I plan to."

"Denis, are you going to toy with him again?" asked the second voice that had become a constant in his anguish.

Straining his eyes to the right, he caught a glimpse of the two men. Felkis, the man who had just spoken, was the shorter of the two and had a meaner glint in his eye. Ironically, he was the more controlled and less sadistic of them. But he wasn't a wimp; he was extremely effective in the art of inflicting pain and the three fingers that still sent shocking amounts of pain just _thinking_ about moving them were the handiwork of that man. Denis, on the other hand, was sloppy and cruel.

"Hahahaha, you know me better than that. Besides, we won't have the pleasure of seeing this little _kusok osla_ for much longer. Do you hear that, Mihael? The boss is coming to see you today."

To his exhausted mind, that piece of news didn't register as good or bad. He was left indifferent; after all, what more could they do to him? Broken ribs poked and prodded sensitive internal organs, the bottoms of his feet were too bruised to walk on, the flesh under fingernails and toenails that were torn out still bled, and he was sure that his face would barely be recognized as human. Lack of food and water left him in a constant state of exhaustion and his mind seemed to have shut off. All that he could think about was the words of the Madame and the wide eyes of a child.

Felkis clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Sick bastard," he muttered before turning on his heel and slipping out of the closet-like room.

Denis reached over and none-too-gently removed the duct tape that had held the teen to the metal chair. Once that was accomplished, he tore the tape that fastened the ankles to the unyielding chair legs. Bruises painted the skin, marks of being held too tightly in one position for too long. Yanking the chair right out from under the weakened boy, the wiry Russian barked out laughing as Mihael crumpled under the weight of his body. A groan of pain managed to rip past the bloody throat as both arms were held at an awkward angle by unforgiving handcuffs and his limp body.

"Here, let me help you up."

An arm of steel wrapped around his waist, easily lifting his emaciated body before shoving him onto the table. The metal edge dug harshly into his tender abdomen and the pressure on his ribs brought a yelp to his lips. This was a pain that he could not have imagined. Having never been beaten in his life, not counting the lashings that Roger would frequent his bottom with, Mihael had never even considered such feelings. There was no such thing as pain tolerance in his vocabulary, and even a cold could leave him weak and whiny with only Matt to nurse him. Now, there was no B to carry him home in the rain, or Matt to kiss his fever away. Only more pressure, as Denis removed the handcuff from its current position to a place much higher up, stretching his body to its fullest and forcing him to stand on the tips of his swollen toes. One handcuff was placed up and then the other followed.

"There, is that better?" Another laugh taunted him, humiliating his position but there was nothing that could be done. "This is always my favorite part, you know. I mean, once the boss comes to visit, it's game over for my charge. So, I'll have my fun before you get taken away. After all, it's not often that I get to play with such fresh meat."

Firm hands took a hold of his waistband and tore the pants down over his already bruised flesh, not an ounce of concern held for the boy. The boss was going to kill him, so what was the point? It was time to take advantage of the situation and get off on the feminine looking boy. He was fucking tired of breaking down ugly old men and being denied the pleasures of the young whores at the clubs, and this was too good of an opportunity to let up. What would Ulyanov care? This was just another body that would be buried under dirt and snow.

Mihael squirmed uncomfortably, not completely comprehending the situation. It wasn't until the burning javelin of flesh speared into his body, tearing past muscles and forcing itself into forbidden places that the severity of the situation slapped him full across the face like a literal blow. An inhuman wail splashed against the dimly lit walls before taking flight and echoing all around, an endless nightmare of agony.

"_Proklinat_! This is, ngh, almost painful for me too!" Denis laughed.

Something cold and wet was added to the searing thrusts before that small relief heated up and was forgotten. Shameless tears streamed down Mihael's face as he sobbed into the table top that housed his limp body. The ability of his legs to hold any weight at all had vanished which left the full pressure focused on his sore wrists. Metal handcuffs dug into the weak skin, slicing through and sawing back and forth with each thrust from behind. Savage grunts and panting accompanied the sharp jerks behind him and cold fingers gripped his fevered hips like claws. One of those claws reached up and took a handful of hair, jerking and pulling it mercilessly.

This wasn't like those porn movies he had sat through with Matt and the others. This wasn't the fake affection and fake harshness that those actors portrayed. These weren't fake tears or fake screams. Heaving up bile, Mihael nearly submitted to the desperate demand for unconsciousness. It was better to shut it all out and never remember than to suffer through.

"_End this!"_

Even as semen spilled inside of his body, a surge of unholy energy swelled through him. There was no more pain, only fury and the animal desire to kill. Skinned and bloody hands swung through the air as an elbow connected with the larger man's solar plexus. Years of anatomical studies flashed through, revealing thousands of choices for attack, and one was decided. Before Denis could even struggle for his first breath, a palm connected with his slightly crooked nose and the facial bones caved in with a muffled crunch. Falling back and writhing in pain the Russian's head came in contact with the cement floor before his entire body went slack. Just as his unconscious body began to cough and choke on blood, Felkis busted through the door with his fist wound back for a debilitating strike.

"_Kill him."_

Survival had completely taken over his body and mind with each problem being solved in rapid succession. The left forearm fractured with the force of blocking the punch aimed at his face but the right fist plowed through the resistant air before landing into a widened-in-shock eyeball. Being nothing more than human, the torturer immediately withdrew from attack to place both hands over the injured socket and was rewarded with a metal chair to the temple of his head. Blood sprayed on the floor as his twitching body fell with a thud.

"_Live."_

Those men would be dead, so he had to run. Ignoring the information that reminded him that he was in nothing but a shirt and that his body was too damaged to move, Mihael sprinted out of the room and raced through the narrow hallways. A door. Before he made it to the escape, the door swung open with a burst of frigid air. Three men in thick coats were talking rapidly before they froze at the sight of the half-naked teenager. Still seeing red, the blonde didn't take the necessary time to soak in the tall older man in the middle.

Eyes colder than the blizzard conditions of Siberia flashed before the gloved left hand deflected the wide punch and then moved swiftly to take hold of the wrist and twist the boy around into a painful hold. Immediately, his right hand slipped around the elevated elbow and pinched down harshly on the carotid arteries. The boy's free hand flailed desperately, managing a deep scrape on his chiseled face before dropping due to unconsciousness.

"Ulyanov! Are you alright?"

The stern man glared over his shoulder at his subordinates. Both men were staring at the trickle of red blood that was slowly making its way down his cheek. "Matvey, go check on Denis and Felkis." The younger of the two men nodded and raced down the hall to the holding cell. "Nikon, come look at this."

With quick, graceful steps, the other man stepped up beside the career criminal and examined the unconscious boy. The backs of both hands were skinned badly, blood welling up in beads before rolling over the curved surface. Damage inflicted by routine torture was spread generously over his underfed body. However, what the older man was pointing out was something that sickened even the calloused assassin. Semen was freezing on the back of the boy's legs and blood was still dribbling from the violated flesh.

"He'll bleed out," Nikon stated matter-of-factly, tightly controlling his emotions. "What do you want me to do _Shef_?"

Artic eyes glanced over the boy's body without an ounce of emotion revealed on his face. "Take him to the house. I've already made my decision, so carry it out."

Flipping open his phone, Nikon nodded the affirmative to his boss before ordering his own underlings in rapid short sentences. The old man stood up and made his way towards the holding cell. A few moments later, the younger man shut the phone with a click and ignored the two loud gunshots.

* * *

**Author's notes: **

**Here's the translation for what that Russian dude Denis called Mello: "…pleasure of seeing this little **_**piece of ass**_**." Hah, I bet that if you knew what that meant ahead of time you wouldn't have been surprised! Actually, you probably saw that coming a hundred miles away…**

**Oh, and a few paragraphs later he says "Damn!" in Russian. XD Ulyanov is referred to as "Shef" which means "chief, boss, honcho, patron, or old man" and it's being used respectfully as well as endearingly. As a side note, I wrote the phonetic version of the Russian words to make it easier to read and so that the flow was better.**

**As for the pedophilia symbol of KP with a crown, I totally made that up. I'm sure that there are real symbols and secret codes for those who are fan of real kiddie porn but I wasn't too keen on finding out what they were since it would probably result in my being flagged by the FBI for illegal activities. XD So, to be on the safe side, I made my own up. Finally, did anyone catch the James Bond/Max Smart reference? Ah, I've been having way too much fun coming up with names...  
**


	41. Initiation

Gwynevere Armagh was having a terrible day. Catering services had been denying her requests for their food at a Fashion Show being held at her brother's bar at the end of the week. Two of the local designers got into an accident and weren't going to make it to the event, and she had to try to juggle two armfuls of groceries as she struggled to hold the umbrella over her head. Icy rain was pouring down, and her three-inch heels made it difficult to keep steady on the slick ground. Absolutely nothing could happen to make her day any worse.

Then again, she could be shot in the street by a formal rival gang member.

Trying to keep aware of her surroundings, the stressed woman forgot to pay attention to the ground that she was walking on. Something solid caught the edge of her toe, sending her stumbling forward and dropping one of the paper bags that were in her arms.

"Blessed Mother!" she hissed as she got her footing once more. "I walk these bleedin' streets every day, and I'm still makin' a holy show of trippin' up! Righteous brutal day…"

Glancing over her shoulder so that she knew what to curse out on the rest of the journey home, the red-headed woman was shocked to see a pair of legs sticking out from besides a newspaper machine. Curious to see if it was some poor drunkard passed out in the freezing rain, she tip-toed over the still legs to get a look at the rest of the body. Simple jeans led up to a long sleeved sweater and then an unruly head of dark brown hair. Prodding the body with her foot, she was dismayed to see a lack of response. The fucker was probably going to catch his death of a cold if she didn't shake him awake. Gritting her teeth, she adjusted her grip on the bags to free a hand and then shook the person. Still, no response. Huffing, she decided to get a better look at the face of the mystery drunk. Plastic goggles glinted in the light of a passing car.

Brushing back the man's bangs, she gasped as she was given an unobstructed view of the pale face. Electric blue eyes were staring sightlessly at the wet cement at his feet, and dark freckles stood starkly against the clammy skin. There seemed to be no heat radiating from his body. Even worse, Gwynevere realized that this was no man at all. He was a boy, a teenager to be exact.

"Boyo, are ye okay?" she whispered, a feeling long since missing bubbling up in her chest. He didn't answer, but just continued to stare at the cement. Raindrops rolled into his unblinking eyes before welling up and dripping down his frozen cheeks. Sighing heavily, Gwynevere took a long look at her expensive groceries before setting them down in the puddle-ridden sidewalk. Dropping her large umbrella, the concerned woman began the arduous task of hauling the boy up to his feet and dragging him to her flat a few blocks away.

Finally getting to the top of the flight of stairs, the soaked red-head banged on the door. "Let me in, Mark! I've got a frozen boyo here!"

Almost immediately, the door swung open to reveal a surprised and concerned young man. Blond hair was cut close to the scalp and pale blue eyes peeked out from behind golden lashes and pale skin. "Gwen? What the-"

"Move," she demanded, dragging the numb boy into the safety of the dry room. "Get the scratcher ready!"

The bewildered man rushed to his sister's bed and tossed the articles of clothing to a heap on the side. Sitting the trembling boy on a chair in the dining room, Gwen began to peel away the wet clothes from his body. Her concern grew as the exposed skin refused to exude any heat and its coloration had a bluish tint.

"What else do you need?" Mark asked, looking at the scrawny boy's shivering frame.

"Get the thermometer."

The news was playing in the background, a young woman reading through the report with the horror of the case evident in her voice.

"_The FBI has managed to uncover an international child pornography ring, they revealed today. Children ranging from ages four to seventeen are being processed through the Social Services and Interpol has been called in to help with not only finding ways to protect the children in other countries but also to take into custody the hundreds of men and women being accused of partaking in this horrible crime ring. Strangely enough, this entire case began to unravel when a family in Wyoming was arrested for engaging in pedophiliac acts. Gerald and Evelyn Childress were…"_

Mark clicked the television off as he passed by and handed the thermometer to his sister. The boy was down to his boxers by the time his temperature registered; it was a frightening 92.3 degrees Fahrenheit.

"We need to call an ambulance," Mark whispered as he stared at the numbers.

"Alright, I'll just-" Before the words finished leaving her lips the boy's arm jumped out and snatched her wrist. For the first time, there was an expression on his face, one of discomfort. "What?" Gwen questioned as she sunk to her knees in front of him. Frozen fingers squeezed her wrist tightly and then there was a slight shake of his head. "Ye don' want me to call the ambulance?" Another slight shake of the head.

"Fuck, it doesn't matter what he wants, Gwen! He's freezing! He could die!"

Green eyes never faltered as she stared up into his dull eyes. Another desperate shake of the head and steely fingers gripping tighter. There was a strength in this boy; she knew that he would not die. "Mark, don' worry," she found herself whispering. "We'll just keep him warm ourselves. Put some water to heat up, and I'm goin' to take him to the scratcher."

The man nodded and rushed to the kitchen. Then he was off to a search for water bottles in an attempt to create a source of heat that the boy would be able to keep all night long. Looking back at the shivering boy, Gwen made a quick decision. Body heat would serve very well in this situation. It would warm him slowly and thoroughly. Dragging the boy over to bed, she pushed him over and proceeded to peel the boxers off.

Blushing slightly as his nakedness was exposed so clearly to her, Gwen averted her eyes and took a step back. Her own clothing was wet, so she tugged off her own clothes with much less shame than when she removed them from the boy. Down to her undergarments, she wrapped a thin blanket around herself and then removed those wet clothing articles as well. With all that accomplished, she slipped into the bed next to the boy and pulled the blankets over them. His slack body was frigid against her own, sucking the heat away immediately.

"Ye'll be okay, boyo," she whispered, pulling herself closer to him. "Ye'll be okay."

/_/_/_/

Agony tore Mihael from unconscious like a searing knife through his gut. His body attempted to jerk into a seated position, but straps around his biceps and wrists kept him flat against his back. Gasping in pain, the blond realized that his knees were bent and his legs spread open in an obscene manner. A simple sheet covered the lower part of his body, keeping it out of his view. Another wave of fiery pain elicited a cry from the trembling teenager.

"Shut up!" a stern voice commanded from beside him. Jerking his head to the side, Mihael was once more confronted by the frozen ice of an older man's eyes. Snow white hair was smoothed back into a short ponytail, and deep wrinkles were set into a smooth face. This was the man who had put him into a headlock, who had sent him into oblivion in under a minute.

"W-wha-? W-who are you?" the boy choked out, groaning as more pain began to register in his mind.

"Vitaly," another man's voice called. This man was in a white lab coat and was snapping latex gloves onto his hands. "He's going to have to stay awake for the procedure. I don't have enough medication to even numb him."

"That's fine," the old man snapped before turning his attention back to the quaking boy. "What's your name?"

"M-Gabriel. Gabriel Ulyanov." Even as his tormented mind writhed, Wammy's training kicked in. Self preservation, he could not let anyone know his name.

The old man's features did not betray any of his thoughts. "Do you know who I am?"

Just then, fingers prodded against the torn muscles at his bloodied backside. Howling in pain, Mihael's back arched and the tears began to flow down his cheeks. A sharp slap knocked his head to the side, and he only cried more. Why was this happening? Something thick and tough was shoved in front of his lips and the smell of leather filled his nose.

"Bite down on this," Vitaly commanded gruffly. "I won't have you screaming like a whore in my house. Displaying that you are in pain is not allowed." Not knowing what else to do in this situation, Mello bit down on the offered leather strap and squeezed his eyes shut as the supposed doctor's hands continued to probe his exposed parts. Sighing audibly, Vitaly looked down at the pitiful creature. "You've killed my son, Gabriel. You've killed the heir to my growing business. I was going to kill you for that, strangle you with my own bare hands." Turquoise eyes, so much like his own, peeked from behind the eyelids before being hidden once more as the boy cringed from the pain. "But, you left my only surviving heir alive. You killed Mikail, but you left his son alone and allowed the boy back into my home. For your considerate act, I was only going to maim you and send you to work in the prisons of Siberia, but then I saw this." His hand waved absentmindedly over the teenager's abused body. "I have no tolerance for a man taking another man, much less raping a _boy_. Because you were under my care when this violation happened, I have decided on another avenue."

"Alright, I'm going to have to do some stitches, Vitaly. You might want to give the boy some Vodka."

Taking a clear bottle that was on the bedstand, Vitaly yanked the leather from the boy's mouth and poured some of the strong liquid down his throat. As the boy tried to choke it down, he shoved the leather back between the gnashing teeth. "I'm going to mend you up, Gabriel. I will tend to your needs just as long as it takes for you to get back on your feet. And then I'm going to exile you." His eyes grew stony. "If you ever step back on this land, I will flay you alive and then throw your wretched body into the frozen river to watch your drown. Is that understood?"

Groaning helplessly, Mihael nodded.

/_/_/_/

Curled up on his side, Matt found himself face-to-face with a woman's breasts. As in, real actual boobs. Sadly, he found that he wasn't the slightest bit interested. Turning his attention to the sleeping face, he took note of all the little details. Flaming red hair was strewn across the white pillowcase, and ivory skin stretched over her body. There were the beginning of wrinkles at the edges of her eyes and at the corners of her mouth, and she had an exceptionally straight nose. Red eyelashes and eyebrows, sharp tight lips, a thin face, delicate ears, and a strangely masculine tattoo on her shoulder. From his point of view, it looked like an intricate Celtic knot, circular in design with interesting ins and outs. Freckles dusted her body lightly and her nipples were a dusky pink. He wondered why she was naked as well, but looking at the sopping wet clothes on the floor the most likely answer made itself known.

A soft groan emitted from her lips before poison green eyes opened and stared down at him. She seemed confused at first, then remembrance lit her features. "Mornin'. Are ye feelin' better?"

His mouth opened to respond, but strangely enough, he didn't feel like talking. So he didn't. Snapping his mouth shut, he just continued to stare at her.

"Ye're a righteous arse aren't ye?" she chuckled. That was a definite Irish accent, Matt realized. "So, plannin' on stayin' around?"

It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go, so he shrugged.

"Let's get ye dressed, boyo. I'm gonna be puttin' you to work." Her hand came up and affectionately patted his head before she slipped out of the bed and went to the small bathroom down the hall.

Looking down, Matt examined his exposed hands. His scars were gruesome, and he shuddered at the thought that even the ones on his back could have been seen because of his state of undress. Pulling the blankets more tightly around his shoulders, Matt remained on the bed. He didn't trust himself to say or do anything. Talking had gotten him kicked out of the only home he had in the world. What would Mello have to say about that? Matt, the only Wammy's kid to have been kicked out. Not even Beyond Birthday had that dishonor. Chuckling humorlessly, the brunette allowed the pain to sink further in. No, he was not a Wammy's kid anymore. That title was stripped away from him like the stripes being torn off of a military uniform. Disgrace.

A warm hand rubbed the back of his exposed neck as he cried silently into the pillow. It was that woman again, sitting at the edge of the bed with a bathrobe firmly wrapped around her body. There was concern in her eyes, but she said nothing. Without stipulation, she offered her motherly comfort and let him cry it all out.

/_/_/_/

Gwen's heart ached as she watched the boy. In the few days that he had been staying with her, he had refused to utter a peep. While that concerned her, she was even more concerned about how empty his eyes were. It was as if no one was home anymore, that he didn't give a damn about the life he was blessed to have. Then again, the scars imprinted on his young body gave her reason to think that maybe he didn't believe in blessings anymore.

"What do ye think, Mark?" she mumbled over her steaming cup of coffee.

Her brother was leaning towards a mirror, expertly applying mascara to his delicate eyelashes. "I think that he's an abused foster kid who we need to report to the state."

Rolling her eyes she blew on the hot drink before taking a sip. "Do ye think that sendin' him back now will help at all? If he's from the foster system, then we'd be just sendin' him back to that hellhole. We'd be makin' a right bags of that situation."

Mark paused before replying as he smeared lipstick over his puckered lips. With a smack of the glossy lips, he turned to face his sister better. "Why do you still talk like that?"

"Don' get me started on this," she grumbled. "Ye don' want me to kick your arse before ye get on stage."

"We've been gone from Ireland a long time," he sighed. "And more importantly, you're just asking for some sick fuck of a gang member to shoot you down. We're not protected by our father here."

"I think that I know that," Gwen hissed. "Remember? I'm the one who dragged you across the bleedin' ocean so that you wouldn't get lynched for being a righteous fag!" She knew that she had said too much; the hurt was obvious in his eyes.

"Well," he muttered as he pulled on his expensive wig. "I'll just be heading out now." Turning on his heel the best-looking drag queen this side of the Big Apple strutted away to his adoring crowd.

A few minutes passed before the roar of an appreciative crowd echoed up from the floorboards. Sometimes she hated living above his gay bar, and other times she was glad. Glancing around her brother's room, she sighed unhappily. Sometimes they would argue over the stupidest stuff, and they would cruelly poke at the other's most tender wounds. A mop of unruly hair made itself known from around the corner as their guest peeked in. His meek, lifeless way of moving about and expressing himself made him seem so…helpless. Even though he was a good inch or two taller than her, he always seemed so small and delicate.

"Come on, let's go to the kitchen," she said with a smile. "Mark's boyfriend's been around, and we don' wanna know what they've been doin' on this scrat-, I mean, bed."

Blue eyes followed her movement as she left the small room, and even though she didn't hear him walking behind her she knew he was there. That boy was like her personal ghost, whispering along the floors behind her; ineffective, but always there. Patting one of the hardwood chairs, she then moved to set down her cup and began to rummage through her junk drawer in search of scissors.

Dropping the Irish accent, she began talking absentmindedly. "I wonder if you'll eventually start talking to us. Maybe you're a mute? Oh, don't tell Mark that I'm talking like an American or he'll never let me live it down."

Chuckling, she dug up a sharp pair of scissors and moved over to the seated teen. He just stared at her, with his expressionless eyes.

"Well, you see, the two of us came over from Ireland about ten years ago." The metallic clip of the hair dressing tool penetrated her words adding a whimsical beat to her dialogue. "Our dad ran one of the Irish gangs. He'd always be fighting one terrorist group or helping another. It was always dangerous, but my brother was expected to learn and take part of it."

Clumps of hair fell to the ground as she trimmed back the curled edges of brunette hair. The teen remained motionless.

"Not that you'd know much about Ireland or gangs, but the environment was dangerous to Mark even more than usual. You see, Mark is gay, and on top of that, he likes dressing up as a girl. This wasn't looked down on kindly, and we had to watch fags being lynched ever since we were little. He was scared, and as soon as he confided in me, I knew that we had to get out for his sake. Dad would've killed Mark with his own bare hands if had found out, so, being the big sister, I did what I could. We ran away."

Leaning back to admire her work, she couldn't help but smile at the slouched boy. He was like an obedient lap-dog getting groomed. It was much easier to see those perfect blue eyes.

"See, if you would just talk, then you wouldn't have to hear about my crappy life." Grinning mischievously, she set down the scissors and ruffled his hair again. "I guess that I'll just tell you every boring moment of my life until you cry out for mercy. Then maybe I'll shut up. Oh, but sweep up the floor, will you?"

/_/_/_/

Fever had been eating away at his body and mind. Sweat-soaked hair was plastered to his face and the trembling wouldn't go away no matter how many blankets were piled on. His bones ached, and all of his flesh felt on fire. Someone named Nikon would make an appearance every other hour, pressing cold compresses against the heated skin, wiping the sweat away, or offering those wonderful little pills that numbed some of the worst pain. Sometimes the doctor would come in and shamelessly prod between the teen's legs, looking and feeling at things that he had no right to.

Hallucinations would come and go. Matt would be there, kissing his face and holding his hands. The Madame would yell and curse. Wammy would offer chocolate to make it all better. Then he would be back in the dark cold room waiting for that fucking Russian to come back with medicine.

"_You are soft and warm," _Beyond whispered.

"I'm broken and fevered," the blond replied exhaustedly.

"_You have feeling…"_

"Pain."

"…_you cannot become like everyone else…"_

"I'm not." Mello knew that he wasn't making any sense as he stared at Beyond's fading figure. "I'm ruined. Not a good person, a proper man."

"_Don't give in. Never give up."_

"But…I can't…"

Bloody eyes stared down. _"Show them that you are better…become the best…"_

The tears were coming again; his voice was cracking. "I-I'll win."

"_Oh, Mihael," _the voice achingly whispered.

Gasping for air silently, Mihael watched the vision swim before his eyes as the tears welled up. "D-don't leave me. Please, d-don't do it again…"

A cold rag was placed against his forehead, and the blond jerked in surprise. Nikon was standing over him, looking down in concern. "Gabriel, can you understand what I'm saying?"

Bile twisted in the boy's gut. It felt as if dirt was lodged under his skin, dirtying him. He needed to claw it all out, needed to get rid of the filthy feeling pounded between his thighs. Ghost pains wracked his mind as he felt himself being filled over and over again. Everything seemed crooked in his eyes, all images slightly askew. It was as if the crystal that he had been observing the world through was suddenly cleaved, fractured. His perception was warped and no matter how many times he blinked, things didn't return to normal.

"Vitaly is in a difficult situation," the Russian man muttered as he sat at the edge of the bed. "There are many people who don't want you to be here at all, and only his influence is keeping them back. He knows who you are, though, and hasn't shared that with anyone. A bastard grandson would seem even more of a threat to his legitimate heir and then nothing would keep you safe."

"…" Mihael could think of nothing to say. It would probably be better if he were dead. What did he have left to live for? What did he live for in the first place?

"I…well, I think that you should have this." A glass bracelet was held in front of the turquoise eyes, light from the hallway glinting on the jam red beads. A cross dangled, crucified between the dark beads. "I found it with your stuff and slipped it out before they destroyed everything."

Pale, bandaged fingers slipped out from under the covers and clenched the bracelet before dragging it back under the covers.

"And one more thing," Nikon continued. Reaching into his jacket's front pocket, he pulled out a beautiful rosary. "I felt guilty taking this, but I think that it was for a reason. I'm not particularly religious, Gabriel, but this…" Taking a long moment to admire the religious article, the man sighed. "I buried your mother. Jelka was beautiful, and it was a shame that she had to die. Of course, she only had eyes for your father and never noticed my affection. So, I took this to remember her by."

The rosary was set next to the boy's feverish head.

"I don't know what's going to happen to you," the older man continued absentmindedly. "I guess if you can't find a reason to live you'll just pass on."

"I'll win," Mihael croaked, a whisper forced past his bloody throat. Through his fuzzy mind he was beginning to remember things, things that were important. B was dead, L was dead, and one person had killed them both. Near was already ahead of him. Matt was at Wammy's House, waiting for him to win and come back. It was a stupid decision to come in search of his mother and it was causing him to waste valuable time. Then again…maybe he would be able to use his situation to his advantage.

Clawing through the haze in his mind, Mihael grinned frighteningly, ignoring the tears that were desperate to make themselves known.

/_/_/_/

It had been a week since the brunette teen had arrived into her home, and Gwen was surprised and a little disturbed to discover that her life had changed drastically. Even though he had seemed to recover from his bout of hypothermia, the boy continued to sleep in her bed and every morning she would wake up to his beautiful blue eyes observing her. It never failed to bring a smile to her lips. The next thing that had changed was that she was no longer constantly alone. Instead of going through her day by herself, struggling to do everything, there was a quiet and constant companion behind her. No matter what the chore, the teen was always a few steps behind her.

At first, she was just grateful to have company, a person to talk to and hand grocery bags to, but then she realized that it was more than that. The boy never complained, never told her that she talked too much. He never walked off while she talked, never averted his attention. She was the center of his attention, his entire universe.

Currently, dark sunglasses were perched on his lovely nose as they did some housecleaning. All the blinds had been taken down for washing and he had curled up in the darkness of the bathroom refusing to budge until she figured out that he hated all of that light. Another interesting detail that she found precious about the boy. It was like he was this mysterious present that needed to be opened patiently, piece by piece and with each new discovery there was a growing sense of discovery and…

…something else.

Glancing over at him as he dutifully washed the dishes, Gwen couldn't help the warm feeling in her gut. She wasn't lonely when Mark and his boyfriend were off on dates during the day or when they were running the bar by night. She didn't get homesick for her beautiful country or think back on the love that could have been all those years ago.

"I don't want to keep calling you 'Boyo'. What's your name?"

The brunette turned his head slightly to acknowledge her question, but he didn't utter a sound.

"Why won't you talk to me at all?"

His lips quirked a little.

"Not even a hint of a name?" she whispered as she drew nearer to him. Her chin rested on his thin shoulder and she tried to stare into his blue eyes through the dark lenses of the sunglasses. "Not even…a little hint?" Swallowing thickly, her eyes were drawn down to the pouty full lips that parted ever so slightly. Each breath she took became heavier and she found herself being drawn in like a magnet. He didn't pull back.

Their lips connected softly, just a gentle pressure.

Gwen pulled away, the blood rushing through her veins hotly. Her legs were trembling and her throat constricted. Both hands were clenching his hips too tightly because she was afraid of what would happen if she didn't keep them grounded. The boy shut off the sink's water with a flick of his wrist and pulled away from her. Shocked, both at her behavior and his reaction, Gwen just stared as he moved to the junk drawer and pulled out a notepad and pencil. He scratched down something and then moved towards her holding the pad of paper out in front of himself.

MATT

"So your name's Matt?" she whispered, her hands reaching out for him. He dropped the notepad and went straight into her arms. Hugging him tightly, Gwen finally felt better. Right now she wouldn't consider how strange it was for her to feel so desperate for him to be near her all the time. "Alright, Matt, alright. Thank you."

/_/_/_/

"That went well," Rester sighed as he slipped into the SUV where Near had been waiting for him. "Taking down that child prostitution ring really made them take notice of you…what are you looking at?"

A family was playing happily together in the park. Two young children were screaming happily as their father chased them around and the mother prepared a meticulously organized picnic.

"Jonas! Come bring the kids!" Her long flowing hair was whipped about by the breeze.

"Coming Trish!"

"Coming Mommy!" the two little girls called out in synch, their melodic voices peppered with giggles.

Near's eyes were fixed on the family, the toys next to him all but forgotten.

"Near?"

The young boy blinked and then turned his attention towards the larger man. "Yes? What were you saying?"

"You…you made quite an impression. Because of the child prostitution ring case."

"Let's leave this city," the pale boy commanded softly, sparing the family one last glance. "I still have much work to do before they will take me seriously so we'll be moving to the East Coast to carry out more of my investigations."

Rester didn't know why this particular family caught the attention of his charge, but it made a part of him ache for the boy. How did the world turn out so badly, to the point of a little kid having to give up his choice to lead a normal life all to hunt down the worst mass murderer in the history of the planet? Why was this unfortunate boy kept from the pleasures of having his own family?

"Yes sir. I'll get us packed and ready to go."

/_/_/_/

Taking a slow drag from one of Gwen's cigarettes, Matt stared at the plain ceiling. He had gotten a little better here with her and her strange brother. They would always have a proper dinner no matter how busy their days and nights were and the traditional Irish meals always left his stomach content. Neither of the siblings pried into his personal life by hounding him about where he came from and they didn't even try to force him to speak. Instead, both of them grew accustomed to carrying entire conversations with him based entirely on their words and his body language.

It was a strange, but refreshing life. There were no traces of Wammy's House, or L, or anything like that. No tests, no stress, no expectations. All he had to do was tidy up around the flat and follow Gwen around throughout the day. A twinge of pain reminded him of a certain someone that he used to follow around all the time, but he shoved those thoughts back down. That someone was long gone, and that was that. All of his wishes and moping about didn't bring Mello back to him, and it instead got him kicked out of his home. That wasn't going to happen here, he wouldn't let it.

Stubbing the rest of the cancer stick out in a nearby ashtray, he turned his attention to Gwen as she brushed the long wavy tresses of crimson hair. She was a real red-head, and had quite the fiery temper to boot. Each day was an adventure as she worked hard at the business angle of her brother's bar. Mark and his nice-but-useless boyfriend would run the entertainment aspect of it during the night and into the early morning, but Gwen was the real brains of the operation. She was a logistics strategian, and all of her hard work allowed the business to run smoothly and flourish. Seeing someone working so hard and actually attaining results was refreshing, a much needed change.

The bed dipped as the older woman crawled in next to him. Matt was no fool, and he knew that the newest twist to their relationship was partially his fault. It was easy to see that she was lonely and attention-starved, so he had used that part of her to his advantage in order to assure himself that she wouldn't ever throw him out. He had done what any genius child who was taught to survive would do. And now…

Soft lips pressed against his temple, and the warm hand smoothed back his bangs. She pulled the blanket more tightly around the two of them and wrapped her arms around his neck and his lower back. This new affection didn't scare him or excite him. It was just different. Having never been treated like a child, he couldn't really comprehend that there was anything wrong with the situation. Was it wrong to hold a child in such a position? Yes. He knew it was. Was it wrong for Gwen to offer open-mouthed kisses to him? No. It wasn't wrong because he had never been a child.

So he kissed her back, and welcomed her advances. Gwen was beautiful in her own way, something that he could appreciate. She would never have the sinewy curves and toned physique that he had loved to adore, or those ever-changing eyes. This woman would never be Mello to him, she could not even compete. But she was beautiful and she was offering him what Mello did not. A home. A family. A normal life, or as close to normal as one could get living above a gay bar.

There was only one rule in his mind, one that he would never break. Matt knew that he could never initiate anything. Things got dangerous when he began to let his emotions show or acted like he cared, so he would avoid that at all cost. He would respond, encourage, and manipulate, but never, _ever,_ initiate.

* * *

**Author's Notes: I've just come to the horrifying conclusion that my story depends quite a bit on OCs. -dies- I'm so embarrassed...I hope that at least they're not Mary Sue or worse. Don't hate me? XD**


	42. Pivots

**Dedicated to Hotoko Hoshi.**

* * *

Bone-dry dust made a feeble attempt to rise before settling back down as heavy bare feet trudged through the wasteland. A slithering sound that resembled that of a dead body being dragged through the desert. Bejeweled joints and gilded bones creaked from disuse, but Armonia Justin was more than happy to make the unpleasant trip. Nu, however, was not quite as excitable. The soft folds of her lower region were chafed by the eternally hot sands and the dry air irritated all of her delicate Shinigami eyes. Though she had no visible mouth, her deep smoky voice was heard clearly through the still air.

"Justin, now do you feel like telling me why you're dragging me out so far? Are we going to see the King today?"

The skeletal grin never wavered and the powerful Shinigami continued trudging forward. "I suppose that it won't hurt anything by explaining. I'm dragging you out here to help me welcome in a newborn."

Nu stopped in her tracks and most of her wandering eyes jerked to focus their attention on Justin. "What? Why are we getting a new one? And why do you need me? Shouldn't the Old Man be with you?"

For a moment, there was no response, just the creak and rattle of bones. Eventually, a rattling sigh was forced through the gilded teeth. "I already talked to him, Nu, and I got permission to bring this one into our world myself."

The slithering sound picked up as the female Shinigami continued to follow the lanky male. "So why am I here?" The curiosity was evident in her tone. The King was the only one who had ever brought forth a newborn as far as she knew, so hearing that Armonia was going to do this piqued her interest.

"I know that you're a higher rank than I am and that you have no reason to continue with me, but I was hoping to get a favor from you."

This request further piqued Nu's interest. Armonia was a Shinigami who bestowed favors, but never asked for them. "And what would this favor be, Justin?"

Pulling out one of the thick jewels that housed in his empty eye sockets, the god of Death looked over his shoulder and cackled. "Nu, I am interested in borrowing a pair of your eyes."

/_/_/_/

Steam seeped through the cracks in the surface of the desolate landscape. Nu could barely hear herself think and wondered how Justin could continue on so…happily. It was strange to see any Shinigami in a good mood these days, even a generally sarcastic and relaxed one like Justin. He was still going through the years he had built up after setting loose the Black Plague on Europe and the great tsunami that sunk Atlantis, so he was always content to watch and harass his fellow death gods. Now, he was actively doing something? And giving birth to a fellow Shinigami at that? The dark fluids that wept from her two empty eye sockets attested to the fact that she was indeed very curious.

"You never answered my question, Justin," she declared, trying to be louder than the hissing fumes.

"Which question was that?" he snickered as his long legs easily stepped over a large crack.

"About your own eyes! What happened to them?"

Justin only hummed in understanding, but didn't reply. Instead he quickened his pace in the direction of a small oasis of dead vegetation. Rotting leaves swayed in the air without the aid of a breeze and the brittle wood creaked and groaned like the anguished dead from the mortals' idea of Hell. Hissing unhappily, Nu weaved her way around the jagged gashes allowing the fumes out, cursing that her own form did not allow for the ease of travel that Justin's did. By the time she made her way to where Justin was standing, it seemed that he had already started the process.

Shinigami eyes were half-lidded as he stared down at the mound of dust that began to tremble. Gilded teeth clicked together before his hoarse voice creaked out twisted words rarely heard by any of her kind and she remained quiet and watchful. At once, all of her eyes were focused on the quivering sand.

"_Created man from dust did He,  
Living, breathing, from control be free._

_Then live far too long did they,  
Killing, raping, and with the angels lay._

_Only a portion of the curse was Flood,  
Its sacrifice fulfilled the lust for blood._

_Out of man's decaying remains,  
From dust to flesh we became…"_

Seemingly bending to whim of the accursed Shinigami language, the sand was melting, popping, and an unearthly wail broke through the sizzling air. If Nu had any hair, she knew it would have been standing on end. Her own flesh twitched and shuddered as she watched the figure taking its shape, the one it would own for eternity.

"_Become what you once were_," Justin whispered, his voice echoing cutting through the wail before being swallowed up once more. "_Remember what you had been, let your body reveal the creature buried deep within…_"

Black, dripping wings spurted out grotesquely, twisting and breaking from the gentle curve of a raven's wing to something perverse and unholy. Clawed fingers scratched at the surrounding ground, ripping new paths. Stitched flesh wrapped itself around nude legs before giving way to burn scars and a back striped with deep blackened scars. Dark feathered hair crowned the head of the creature and charcoal tendrils made their way down the writhing body, mimicking the veins that once ran through the creature. Twisting in agony until it was on its back, the creature let out another desperate wail and Nu barely held in her gasp of surprise. The left side of its chest seemed to be torn open revealing a rapidly beating heart, pinned in position with twisted remains of ribs. The burns came up and around the torso coming to an end at the creature's ivory neck. Before the face was completely formed, a layer of bony material crusted over the head, twisting and groaning into a grotesque mask with a frozen expression of horror and horrifying with blood tears staining paths from the eye sockets to the chin. The humanoid creature was nearly complete and was now left gasping and trembling as its figure was clothed. Even the sexless creatures of death were bound to the laws of modesty passed down through the creatures whose remains formed them. Low-riding sanguine pants oozed over the stitched and scarred legs, but the only thing that moved to cover its torso was a chain of glass beads wrapping themselves around its neck.

"My little one," Justin purred affectionately as he moved to the trembling creature. If Nu had a mouth it would have dropped in utter shock at hearing such a tone from the skeleton. "Happy **birthday**."

"W-what…ungh, where?" the masked Shinigami groaned in pain, a sound worse than nails scraping down a blackboard. Its heart was beating even more rapidly.

"You have been taken out of nothing and move to a realm **beyond**."

"B-beyond?"

Taking the creature's hands, Justin pulled them palm up to reveal a pair of embedded Shinigami eyes. "I haven't seen you in such a long time," he whispered affectionately. "Now it's time to visit the Old Man and get you your own Death Note and belt." Turning to Nu, the eternally grinning face seemed to grin wider. "Here's your answer," he chuckled as he showed her the newborn's hands. "Once he gets his own Death Note, I'll be able to return your eyes and make use of my own."

/_/_/_/

Acceptance came a lot more quickly than he would have imagined. Staring down at the pair of eyes in his hands, Beyond focused on the strange sensation of seeing himself from two different perspectives. His body was a monstrous thing, but there was nothing he could do about that. The flesh of his palms folded down to close the eyes, effectively giving him a regular perspective. Looking over his shoulder at the strange creature seated so regally on a jeweled throne, he decided that asking questions couldn't hurt.

"So…why did you drag me from MU to this wasteland?" Tact was not something he regularly engaged in.

Jeweled eyes turned to him and the voice that gave his body pleasant chills replied. "I've planned for you to be by my side since your conception. MU was just a necessary resting stop."

"And why is that?" Beyond muttered, not angry or offended, but merely curious.

Staring into the dark blankness that painted the horizon, Justin shrugged. "Shinigami occasionally get fond of humans, and your mother was the one that caught my attention. She carried my Death Note around for several years, never once writing a name; of course, I haunted her all the while, and we would speak of many things. Having discovered about MU, she requested that I ensure that her unborn child would never face the loneliness and emptiness of nothingness. Of course, her finite mind could not begin to comprehend MU, but I nonetheless gave her my word."

"You're a god of Death for fuck's sake," Beyond chuckled, "why would she trust your word? More importantly, why would you keep your word?"

"Shinigami live to do whatever they want, whenever, and however, so long as it remains in the confines of the Laws. We are guided by nothing more than what strikes our fancy. I am quite fond of you. Besides, I wanted to be able to have use of my eyes again eventually. I'll die if I don't write the names of mortals in my Death Note."

"Okay, so how did I end up with your eyes?"

"It was another whim. I was curious as to how mortals reacted if they were given Shinigami eyes without any instruction. After your birth, your mother gave up ownership of her Death Note and I dropped my own eyes to you. Since we did not have a contract, I could not furnish you with your own."

"Were you satisfied with the results?" Beyond questioned as he leaned his head against the gilded and jeweled leg.

"Very much. You were quite amusing."

"Can I travel to the human world whenever I want to? Is that in the Laws?"

"You are free to do that, but keep in mind that I will require your services at different times, so don't give out your Death Note. If you lose or give away your Jeweled Spear, you will receive the Extreme Level of severity with death following immediately. Also, don't extend a human's life in any fashion or you will be killed instantly."

Nodding in understanding, Beyond stood up and swept up the ridiculously ornate Kwan Dao that had been resting at his feet. The Shinigami King had given him the weapon along with the Death Note; apparently, he was being charged with being a kind of enforcer among the Shinigami. Justin would judge on whether or not the Laws were broken, and he was the one in charge of dishing out the punishment. Standing at a portal, his eyes were immediately drawn to Naomi Misora's figure hunched over an ultrasound photograph. She was crying and rocking back and forth. Some Asian man was in the living room, half asleep as he watched a television drama. Maybe following her around wouldn't be such a bad thing.

/_/_/_/

"You could have gotten in trouble," a deep voice stated. Bejeweled eyes turned over to examine the hunched figure fondly. "Going down to the human realm…and for what? To escort your 'lady' into Nothingness?" Justin was obviously a little irritated considering that Beyond had ignored his command to get rid of some low-ranking Shinigami's Death Note and instead went to be with L during his last moments.

"I…love your voice," Beyond whispered, his voice a mixture of earthly and unearthly sounds. It was the whispering wind, the flickering flame, the thunderclap, the screams of souls, the emptiness of the Shinigami realm, the creaking of the bony joints, and the clattering of skull-head dice. It was the voice of a Shinigami who didn't know where he belonged yet. "It's not quite gravelly or smoky. It's deep and calming. Then again, it's also not smooth like velvet or sweet and considerate. I know I'm dead when I hear your voice. If anything, it resembles the creaking of a heavy hinge, that sensual moan of metal against metal without any lubrication."

"Khe he he he, is that so? It's good to know that you like my voice. Though, I have to be honest. You're probably so fond because it's the same voice that called you into existence. It's usually the Old Man who does the honor, but not this time. You're just like the baby cooing to his mother's voice."

"That's it exactly. So, should I call you mother?"

"Answer my question. And if you call me mother, I'll send you right back where you came from."

"Sure thing, Armonia Justin _**Beyond**_ormason." White diamond eyes met with blood red eyes. "To hell with consequences, I had to make sure that the last thing he saw wasn't the face of that psycho."

"Hehehehe, it's a good thing that I like you," the Shinigami advisor snickered, leaning his chin on his fist.

"And it's a good thing my mother liked _you_. Heh, hehehe, KYA HA HA HA!"

/_/_/_/

Biting the inside of his cheek, Mihael stubbornly continued to shuffle down the cold hallway. Everything in Russia was fucking cold all the damn time. The saliva in his throat seemed like unbaked dough, sticking to the fleshy walls of his throat. Muscles that had gone too long without use burned from the exertion and taut, healing flesh tugged at sutures still in place. Bare feet padded down the passageway slowly, and nothing save his heavy pants for air could be heard. With a hand creeping along the wall for support, the blond steadily made his way to the gymnasium in the building complex. Although he wasn't technically allowed to be roaming through the building at his leisure, Mihael could not waste such an opportunity; many of the men working under Vitaly would spend the early morning hours practicing their martial arts, a thing called Systema. He would be damned if while he was stuck at this place recovering he wouldn't learn a thing or two.

Reaching his destination, the blond silently took a seat on the floor and watched as the men warmed up. All of these brutes were killers, unconscionable criminals. Kira was a criminal. L was killed by Kira. He would kill Kira.

With the exception of Nikon, no one in the complex thought much of him. They would twist their ugly mugs into sneering grimaces and disgust. Vitaly himself remained fairly impassive. The old man would order his men to let Mihael do whatever he wanted to do, but then he would step back and never approach the recovering blond. Day after day he would wander around to get his strength and to observe the others. Russian was a difficult language, but his Slovenian background allowed him to pick it up faster than usual.

'_Somehow, this will all help me catch Kira,' _Mihael thought to himself. _'For now, I have to be patient and learn.'_

The men sparring on the cold cement began talking about how Vitaly's beautiful niece would be coming to stay with her uncle soon. Apparently, she was suffering from some kind of cancer…

/_/_/_/

Vitaly stared hard at the glass paperweight sitting so regally on his desk. It was an item just like that which had bludgeoned his only son to death, crushing the bones of his skull until the corpse's visage was unrecognizable. A small whimper could be heard from the child sleeping on a trundle bed next to his feet. His grandson had always been close with him, but after witnessing such a grisly murder, the boy was loathe to be anywhere without his grandfather nearby.

Thankfully, the boy's mother would be returning soon to tend to the child's weakness, a weakness that was undoubtedly passed down by Mikhail. Digging his fingers into both aching temples, the hardened crime lord allowed himself a moment of regret. Regret for marrying delicate Anna, with her soft voice and gentle, controlling eyes. Regret for allowing her to raise the boy completely while he continued to expand the underworld empire. Regret for assuming that his son would outgrow the foolishness of his mother's teachings after her untimely death. For him, there was enough regret to write a novel, and this shame is what kept him working so hard forthe mafia's leader. Was he already adding another chapter of regret by not killing that bastard grandson?

Deep in thought, Vitaly allowed his feet to carry him through the dark corridors and to the room of said bastard. The fever that had relentlessly wracked the boy's body had already subsided and yet the boy's erratic behavior continued. Sometimes he could be found wandering up and down the halls of the complex with eyes darting and lips soundlessly muttering. Other times he would be found curled up in a corner of his room, just holding himself and staring sightlessly at a spot on the wall.

Only recently did his pattern change. Every morning, the boy was found watching the hitmen practicing their brutal Systema. The men were uncomfortable at first, but after he warned them to leave Gabriel be, there were no more problems. Many of his advisors insisted that the boy should be killed so that he couldn't threaten the legitimate heir, but Vitaly wasn't particularly concerned. If Gabriel's intention had been to take over the line, he would have killed the boy when he had the opportunity and then go after Vitaly, or would have tried to join the ranks and gain favor that way. Seeing as neither of those approaches had been taken, the hardened criminal was fairly sure that the bastard child had no intention of causing any more problems. No, the passion with which Mikhail was killed, the brutal mutilation, that meant only one thing.

Revenge.

Gabriel had the balls to kill his own father in cold blood and in the presence of a young child, all for vengeance against his mother and brother's death. Nibbling on his gloved thumb in thought, Vitaly continued to stare off into space, allowing his thoughts to spin wildly in a frenzied dance. In his eyes, Gabriel was everything that Mikhail should have been. With the exception of the odd behavior, the blond child actually resembled him quite a bit. Stubborn, cold, and a quick learner. Although the boy didn't speak much, he knew that Gabriel had been picking up on Russian and just pretended to be ignorant so that he could eavesdrop more easily. Also, he went from a boy with virtually no pain tolerance, to being able to keep his mouth shut even during the checkups for his infected wounds.

Finally stopping in front of the boy's room, Vitaly let himself in without a second thought only to be surprised. Gabriel was mimicking a set of Systema moves with his eyes closed as if he were replaying it in his mind. The movements were a little uncertain and jerky, nothing like the brutal efficiency of the martial art, but the older man had to chuckle at the child's attempt.

Jerking out of his practice, Gabriel glared at him and back up to the wall. It was the body language of an injured wild animal, defensive and yet ready to strike out in a hellish fury. "You look like a newborn kitten trying to blindly find its mother's tits," Vitaly chuckled in Russian.

"And you look like the back end of roadkill," Gabriel spat back fluently.

"Good, you've learned Russian." Stepping closer to the bristling boy, Vitaly examined the skinny figure. "There are four basic principles of Systema that you will do well to learn." His thin fingers numbered off each item as he spoke it. "Breathing, form, relaxation, and movement. All of these can best be accomplished by not thinking and just letting your body do what it already knows. Each person was born with the knowledge of self-preservation and this style of fighting capitalizes on it."

Quick as lightning, his hand reached up and slapped the boy's left cheek. Instantly, Gabriel's head snapped to the side and he stumbled away from the strike. Glaring hatefully at the older man, he put his cold hand on the stinging injury.

"What did you notice?" Vitaly asked as he continued to move forward slowly.

"That you hit me."

"What did your body do?"

Chewing on his inner cheek for a moment, Gabriel seemed to begrudgingly see where this was going. "My head moved to the side, absorbing energy from the blow, and my body moved away from the threat to limit damage. My hand moved up to apply pressure to reduce the swelling."

"Correct." Lifting up his hand as if to strike again, Vitaly watched as his grandson's body tensed and those blue eyes focused on the offending hand. "Be careful," he added conversationally. "Use your peripheral vision. You're already focused on the hand that struck you, but knowing that, I could easily use this hand as a distraction and then strike you from the other side."

Nodding, Gabriel relaxed slightly and focused his attention of Vitaly's torso. From there, he would be able to watch all the appendages with his peripheral vision. "Okay, I got that. So how does breathing help any?"

Smiling down at his pupil, Vitaly launched into a lesson.

/_/_/_/

Not even attempting to stifle her yawn, Gwen stared down into the lovely blue eyes that were always there to greet her good morning. His warm body sent wave after wave of contentment through her body and maybe a hint of something more.

"'Mornin' there, boyo," she whispered, her pale hand smoothing the boy's bangs back. It was hard not to press kisses all over his face, one for each stark freckle sprinkled over his nose and cheek bones.

As usual, Matt just stared apathetically back at her. Even after being in her home for nearly a year, the boy hadn't changed much from the first day she dragged him in from the rain.

"Today's a very good day." In fact, it was her birthday, and rather than go through her usual dull routine of work she was intending to spend the day entirely on herself. "Le's go an' shop around, 'kay?"

She was graced with a non-committal shrug.

This time, she did lean down and press a kiss to his smooth forehead. How was it possible to feel so young and carefree in his presence? "Come on, le's get goin'."

The day went along about as perfect as one could hope for. Matt followed her as quiet and content as ever. He never complained or rolled his eyes as she dragged him through clothing store after clothing store. In fact, he even carried all of her bags as she looked for more things to treat herself to. Just as she was leading him through the mall for a quick snack at the food court, Gwen became aware of the fact that Matt wasn't following her anymore. Glancing over her shoulder, her heart clenched as she witnessed an _expression_ on his face.

Shielded behind the dark lenses of sunglasses, his blue eyes were focused on a gaming store. His forehead wrinkled in thought and a sad grin tugged at his lips. It almost looked as if he wanted to move towards the store, but there was something unknown holding him back. The edges of his lips curled up and then struggled to pull down into a frown; it was as if he couldn't decide what to do and it broke her heart just seeing that.

How many times had they walked past that store in the past several months? How many times had he moved past, staring at the ground under his feet or the back of her head, refusing to acknowledge his surroundings? For some reason, whatever it was, Matt had noticed the store, and it had moved something inside of him. Moving to his side, she delicately took his hand and gently tugged him towards the store. He gave a little bit of resistance before melting at her touch and following her lead.

"I don' know much about'm games, but it would be a righteous fun thing to try an' play ta-gethur, don' ye think? Pick whatever ye want."

Dropping her hand, Matt wandered through the store, a childlike expression of wonder and awe lighted on his features. Gloved fingers trailed over the plastic cases with a reverence that Gwen had never seen inanimate objects being handled with save for holy relics. It was sad, and the Irish woman nearly laughed at herself, but she was actually moved to tears just seeing him come to life. And as quickly as it was there, the life was gone, and the both of them left the gaming store with a Playstation 2, an ocean blue Nintendo DS and a few games.

After the shopping spree, Gwen had let Matt set up all the gaming stuff while she soaked in a bath with her favorite jasmine bath oils. Her wine glass was fogged from being held over the steaming bath water and her lips took on a redder hue as she continued to drink liberally from the bottle of cheap wine her brother had left in the house. She was tipsy as she slipped on her bathrobe and moved to the living room where Matt sat unassumingly on the couch, his shoulders hunched as his fingers clicked away on the buttons of the game controller. Some character on the screen was dishing out some brutally punishing moves and Gwen found herself wondering if Matt was the one winning or losing.

Her hands came to rest on his tense shoulders and she dug her fingers into the muscles tenderly. Matt spared a quick glance at her before returning his attention to the game. Although his face spoke of indifference, she could feel that getting the games for him had been the right move. Something had opened up inside of him, and she could feel it washing out, surrounding her in its energy. It was almost as if there was an ember flickering to life in the cold and empty furnace of his heart. If she continued to tend to that ember, would he become a roaring flame? Was that possible?

"Here, wanna sip?" she whispered against his ear as she held out the steam-slicked wine glass.

Its saccharine liquid caught the light lovingly and tainted it with a dark rose color. The brunette examined the item held so carefully in her hand while his game was loading for the next challenge. After a second of contemplation, he opened his mouth in invitation, and she grinned as she held the cup to his full lips and poured the Dionysian drink down his throat. For a moment, she was fascinated by his bobbing Adam's apple and her own mouth watered. She wasn't sure if Matt knew what he was doing to her, but that look in his eye as he watched her silently made her think that he did.

She wasn't drunk enough for this, but she could pretend that she was. Her hands trailed across forbidden skin, and her glazed eyes thirstily drinking up the blush that began its burning trail up his neck and to his cheeks. Matt's own eyes, no longer hidden behind sunglasses, were practically glowing with emotion and it was enough to send her common decency out the window. The plastic gaming controller went to the floor with a clatter as his hands moved to stroke her sides. Moving around the couch to be closer to him, Gwen felt no shame as her bathrobe fell open; it was easy to forget that the person she was leaning over was just a child as he kissed her back enthusiastically and his hands moved to tease more intimate places.

Stroking his sex through the material of his jeans Gwen watched curiously as Matt drained the almost neglected wine glass of the rest of its contents and then set it back behind the couch where they wouldn't be able to knock it over and break it. Taking his action as an invitation to further their contact, Gwen did quick work of freeing his erection from the confines of his jeans and eagerly took it into her mouth. The pounding of her heart seemed to cause her to tremble uncontrollably with each suck and she was ever aware of the heat focused between her thighs.

A part of her found pride in the fact that Matt tasted clean and smelled of pure sex. He was not a person who had been tainted by the filthy world of sexual obsession. There were no rashes or chafe marks which would hint at too much masturbation, and unlike the horde of teenagers that found it "cool" to go without showers for weeks on end and laze around in their filth, Matt was extremely conscious of being clean; he never even forgot to brush his teeth, _ever_.

His cock was exceptionally well shaped, she noted as she bobbed her head over it. Smooth and thick, but not too thick. The length was acceptable and she was glad to be able to deepthroat it comfortably enough. Glancing up at the brunette, she felt her own sex throb in desire at the utterly sinful expression on his face. Both eyes were clenched shut and his teeth were digging into the right half of his lower lip, leaving the other half pouting and quivering with each labored breath. Gloved fingers were gripping the material of the couch tightly and his stomach was trembling with each and every suck.

Pulling away from the now slickened cock, Gwen moved forward to push up his t-shirt and pressed butterfly kisses along his washboard stomach; the fact that he hardly ate anything allowed him such a thin figure. A hand moved forward to stroke her still wet hair, and she looked up to see Matt looking directly at her, his blue eyes bubbling with a torrent of emotions that she couldn't even begin to identify; it was almost more intoxicating to look at those irises than it was to drink the wine and she couldn't help but move to kiss his lips. His heated flesh rubbed against her own slick sex and she was more than ready to go further.

"I'm not on protection," she whispered against his swollen lips, "so you need to pull out before you come, okay?" She was answered with a nod, a thrust, and a gasp.

This wasn't about the sex, and Matt knew that. Gwen could have any man that she wanted sexually, but there was something that she could never forcibly wring out of anyone. Affection and attention. She wanted him because he worshipped her, and he was perfectly fine with that. After all, he had a penchant for worshipping people and lavishing them with all kinds of attention, and here was a woman who was perfectly willing to treat him kindly in return. Not that Mello had ever treated him unkindly, but that boy had been too much emotionally. Draping an arm over his eyes as his cock was provided willing pleasure, Matt found himself staring at the GAME OVER screen on the television trying his hardest not to think about the fact that he had just lost his virginity.

/_/_/_/

Staring at his hands, Vitaly wondered what was going through his grandson's mind. The boy stood rigidly in front of the small, almost obscure grave in the corner of a neglected graveyard. Next to the stone cross with "Jelka" crudely carved in it was a smaller, nameless grave marker. Snow flitted down slowly, lazily, alighting on all objects and casting a sheen of innocence on them, even his bloodied hands. The murders of hundreds were brought about by his own hands, and yet he felt no guilt. Even the boy's family, his whore mother and the strangled twin, were brought to death by him and looking up at the boy's expressionless face didn't cause a pang of his conscious. What did hurt were the actions he was being forced into now.

"We need to leave. Your flight will be leaving soon." Emotionless eyes turned towards him and then the boy moved away from the graves without looking back. Gabriel fell in line behind him wordlessly and remained as silent during the car ride to the unregistered personal jet. Almost one year to the date and the blond had become everything that Vitaly had so desired of his own legitimate heirs. "As I've told you before, Gabriel, you are from this point forward banned from the entire country of Slovenia." The words sounded hollow, even to his ears. "If the organization gets information that you have, my black hand will not hesitate to crush you. Do you understand?"

The blond nodded, and once the vehicle stopped in front of the jet, he stepped out without a word or a second glance. Regret flared in Vitaly's chest; what would it have been like if he had simply accepted that whore's relationship with his son? What if Gabriel and his brother had been his legitimate heirs and were raised according to his standards? That boy had everything necessary to make a great criminal, an efficient killer and a cold businessman. By the Virgin, if he had _two_ of them following in his footsteps, he would have been able to die happy knowing that he had competent heirs. Now? Not so much. Instead, he was left watching the boy walk away and knowing that he would never see him again.

"Are you actually looking a little sad to see him go?" a soft, feminine voice next to him questioned.

Looking over to his right at the dark-haired beauty wrapped in a thick fur coat, Vitaly shook his head a little irritably. "Katrina, a comment like that could get your face carved up."

Shrugging, the woman's painted lips curled in an amused smile. Her long black hair was done up in a loose ponytail and her ivory skin was almost translucent thanks to her weak health. Black clothing signified her constant state of grieving for the death of her son. "Uncle, you keep threatening that, but I know that you like my face too much to order such a thing."

"Tch, you're getting old now. You won't be able to use your looks to hunt men anymore."

Her smile faltered a little as she looked back at the blond who was stepping into the jet. Bringing a scarred thumb to her lips, she nibbled on the flesh thoughtfully. "Thank you for agreeing to fund my ex-lover's orphanage in my stead. If I wasn't on so many drugs and in so many treatments, I would have done it myself."

"It's nothing for my favorite niece," he muttered as their vehicle moved away from the prepping jet.

"I'm your only living niece," Katrina mumbled heavily as she too stared out the windows, thinking about her brother-in-law's strange murder, her dear sister's untimely death in the freak train accident not long after, and the disappearance of her only nephew. "Uncle, sometimes I feel like I'm a curse to everyone around me. I did many wrong things in my life and yet the only people who seemed to suffer were the innocent ones around me."

Thinking back to his own wife, Vitaly shook his head. "Maybe it's a blessing. Allowing those innocents a way out of this fucked up world. Kira's crusade will only make things harder here on out. Maybe they were meant to be spared his foolish reign."

"Or maybe this is my punishment," she mumbled as she leaned heavily on her uncle's shoulder.

/_/_/_/

There were things that needed to be done. Standing in front of the mirror of the hostel's shared bathroom, Mello gave himself a final onceover. This was the last time he would look like this for a good while. His dark turquoise eyes took in the slightly unkempt pageboy cut, the golden hair that once shown like the sun itself. He looked so tired…

With a deep breath Mello began to pour the dark brown hair dye onto his head and worked it into his hair. Two more bottles of dye sat on the edge of the sink, though they were black instead of brown. Three hours later found Mello looking up from his black splotched towel and into a twisted reflection of who he used to be. But raven hair wasn't enough. Snatching the pair of scissors off of the toilet seat, Mello began the arduous task of chopping off his hair. It was such a small price to pay for anonymity, but it hurt. Each snip was a blow to his pride, but Mello knew that he could handle it. Better for his pride to suffer now than later when the stakes were much higher. After all, he still had a pretty face and that's what was really needed at the moment.

A pretty face, a talented hand, and a willing mouth. The fifty US dollars he had in his pocket when he arrived on the outskirts of New York City weren't going to get him very far in his quest to kill Kira, so he would just have to become an entrepreneur. Find a demand and exploit the hell out of it. Looking at the used up whores walking the streets, Mello knew what his niche would be. Who would assume that a young European whore was actually a genius with a vendetta against to the world's most powerful criminal? Squirting a dollop of mousse into his palm, the ex-blond ran it through his hair and spiked it up haphazardly. With his new look complete, Mello quickly cleaned up the mess making sure not to leave any evidence behind. Everything in the bathroom was wiped down for fingerprints and then he was gone.

Surprisingly, it wasn't very hard for him. Mello wondered at that as he enthusiastically sucked on his first customer's dick. Why wasn't he feeling embarrassed? Why didn't he feel like crying in shame and disgust? The middle-aged man forced him back on his heels and the jizz sprayed over his face and into his open mouth.

'_He's a financial supporter.'_

"Not bad, kid," the man chuckled as Mello licked him clean. The taste was horrible. "Here's a bonus." Five extra dollars were added to the ten dollar bill.

'_This kind of thing won't shake my dignity.'_

"Thank you," Mello purred with a wink. Fifteen dollars were a nice start to the thousands of dollars he would eventually need. "Don't forget to tell your friends where they can find me."

'_I'll do what I need to in order to survive…no, I'm going to fucking thrive.'_

The man laughed and ruffled Mello's hair affectionately. "Will do. Maybe next time I'll even ride your ass."

"It would be my pleasure," Mello replied smoothly, not even wiping the semen from his face or moving from his kneeling position.

Stupidly simple. It was all about the psychology. The man was given the semblance of dominance since he was the one standing. Kneeling with hands held at the knees were the sign of obedient submissiveness. Not wiping the semen was respectful and even showed pleasure. Licking the dick clean was a sign of wanting to completely pleasure the client and in no way wanting to be a detriment to his normal life. Smiling allowed the client to relax and enjoy themselves. Confidence allowed the client to feel confident that they would enjoy themselves. Money was always received with a polite bow of the head and a large thankful smile. Enthusiasm allowed the client to complete quickly and pleasurably so that there would always be time for another client.

First things first. An entrepreneur needed to make investments into the business. Twenty five percent of the profit went directly to his wardrobe, ten percent went to the beautification process. He couldn't have himself looking like the dried up hags he was competing with. No, he needed to exploit his competitive advantage. No pimp meant that he kept 100% of the profits, and that meant he was more flexible in how to invest that money. Dark, well-kept clothing were his signature; anything that got torn in the alleyways where he performed his services was discarded immediately and replaced with something new. Manicures and pedicures once a week provided well-kept image and offered the client the best possible pleasure with those particular appendages. Foot-jobs were something he learned about fairly quickly and took in stride. Whatever made the client happy. A new hairstyle soon became necessary so that the client could get a better grip when forcing him down on their cocks, so a more modern style with a long fringe swept to the side in the front and short choppy hair in the back sufficed. Even props like glasses frames added to pleasure some of his clientele's fetishes.

Once the basics were taken care of, the next investment was a tool to implement research. Mello was not content with staying in this particular business forever and needed to be ready to move into the next venture when available. For that, he needed a notebook computer. Fifty percent of the profits went into several secure saving accounts, courtesy of the free fake I.D.'s he would get by providing the forger a little role-play in the back rooms.

Finally, there was the ten percent emergency fund and five percent daily living fund. Buying healthy and organic food only when he absolutely needed to eat, and staying at cheap hostel's and the occasional fuck's hotel kept his budget to a minimum. The emergency fund was for when the idiotic pimps would finally catch on to the fact that he had been making profits on their streets and would chase him out. He would always be a step ahead and was never caught by an angry criminal. The worst that had happened in New York City was the bitch slap from some thirty-something year old prostitute that found him giving head to her regular customer.

Standing in the bus stop with nothing but a shoulder bag full of money and the clothes on his back, Mello went over his plan. His first move would be to Atlanta, Georgia, and from there he would be able to purchase a laptop. Once that was accomplished, he would be able to research better ways of pleasuring his customers and he could charge a higher rate. After the increased income became steady, he would invest in some hacking technology and get to work sharpening up his skills. Kira was no idiot and would immediately catch on to a novice seeking information. Once he was comfortable with his hacking skills, he would move to New Orleans…

Looking over his shoulder at the voice that broke his train of thought, Mello examined a red-headed woman yelling at someone on the other end of her cell phone. "Boyo," she snapped, reaching behind her to pull up a young man towards an ice cream van, "pick a flavor." The back of that unruly brunette hair looked familiar, but Mello's attention was cut short as his vehicle pulled up. It was time to take the next step in his plan.

/_/_/_/

Rester looked through the newest wave of e-mails sent by Roger of Wammy's House. Although Near was never able to reply for the sake of staying in hiding, Roger would continue to send information to a secure email account that Rester was in charge of checking every few months. Shaking his head at the information provided, he spun in his chair to examine the young boy putting together a model mecha.

"Near, Roger said that you're now funded by the Russian mafia courtesy of the Slovenian branch."

"Mmm, that's good," the white-haired child mumbled as he held two pieces together tightly while the glue dried. "I can become a little more aggressive now."

The American leaned back in his chair. At this point, he really shouldn't be surprised. "So you don't mind that you're being funded by criminals?"

"Not at all, Commander," Near retorted as he set the model down. "Criminals were always a large part of L's network and financial supporters. You don't think that he turned in _all _the criminals he captured did you?"

"Actually, yes, I did."

"Well, that would have just been stupid. Criminals, especially those in the higher echelons, have a vast wealth and support network. If L turned in those criminals, he wouldn't have been able to profit from either of those benefits. Instead, he would blackmail them into becoming his supporters. Usually, they didn't mind too terribly much."

"Because as long as they were supporting him, he wouldn't turn them in?"

"Mostly correct, Rester. However, there were limits of his patience with them, and all of his supporters knew that he would drop the guillotine on them if they stepped out of the lines he deemed acceptable." Curling a finger in his hair thoughtfully, Near leaned back against the couch in their hotel room. "You must understand, L never believed that there could be a time where all crime was eradicated. Such a thing is foolish to believe in and it's precisely what Kira is trying to accomplish. The reality is that there will always be crime and there will always be those who try to limit the damage done by the criminals. L was a minimalist. He was content to control criminals if he felt like they would abide by his rules, and utterly destroy those who wouldn't."

Looking at his boss thoughtfully, Rester couldn't help but feel that L was playing god in his own way while Kira did the same in a completely different way. "The world is a lot more twisted than I imagined, and that's saying something."

Near smiled in amusement. "Of course, I'm just telling you what I believe. L never spoke of such things with me, and of course I have not been given access to any of his personal reflections. These are just observations that I have made. Perhaps he was all love, good, and rainbows like you imagined."

"Smart Aleck," Rester chuckled as he turned back to the emails.

* * *

**Author's Notes: I must give credit to a few sentences to the Doujinshi "California". There's a great YouTube video of it which I'll put up on my profile. Also, thanks to the anonymous review who so kindly told me that I was a horrible person for not getting off my lazy ass to update in four months. I hope that you can appreciate the complexity of trying to keep all the timelines canon, adding plot twists to keep things interesting, as well as trying to add depth to characters without turning them OC. Maybe this chapter was worth it?**

**The next three chapters will probably fall in this order: Mello, Matt, Near. After that, I'll be jumping back into the canon plot with Near approaching the head of the FBI and Mello stealing the Death Note.  
**


	43. Depravity

**Author's notes: So, I've been working on the remaining Tattered chapters getting steadily more disheartened. I wondered, "Why oh why has no one reviewed my newest chapter of Tattered? It's all about Mello, so why?" And then, I looked at my stories and had a lovely "Oh shit" moment.**

**You see, while this chapter has been complete for well over a month, I thought that I had posted it up. Not so. MAJOR FAIL on my part. Therefore, I must profusely apologize to all the readers. I'm sorry for getting this to you so late!**

**Also, this is IMPORTANT: Read the update on my profile if you get a chance. **

* * *

**~_~_~_Mello_~_~_~**

Deep breath. Relax the facial muscles. Close eyes. Tuck hair behind ear.

The hardest part of being an entrepreneur was the cost of investing in the business. So much time was required for research, and so much money was spent on silly, yet necessary, things. Sometimes, it was hard to look into the mirror and see the reflection. It had been easy to discover that men didn't want a curvy guy to fuck. They wanted a thin waist, tight ass, loose lips, effeminate yet sharp features, no body hair, and no reservations.

But $50 fucks weren't going to pay the bills for much longer. More than a year had already been wasted on the foolishness of finding his mother and killing his father, and he couldn't afford to keep falling further and further behind. So Mello had to take a chance and step into a place of no return. This wasn't just the rare request for rimming or fingering. This wasn't even the occasional request to say a particular name or title.

No, he was willingly stepping into a position that others his age were forced into. The sleek man with the expensive car and the small, cunning eyes loosened his tie as he motioned for the blonde to get on the bed. It was a bed picturing Mario's happy Italian face with Yoshi running along the edges. A 1UP night light was plugged into the wall (and damn _him _for teaching him what all these stupid figures were). A leather strap was pulled from the foreboding black box sitting on a child's dresser. The sharp slap of leather against skin made a satisfying CRACK and Mello knew that a welt was forming. Panting at an acceptable rate, he looked over his shoulder with smoldering eyes.

"Mmm, Daddy, I've been a _bad_ boy."

/_/_/_/

There was no room for doubting. It only wasted more precious time. Studying his nude body in the full-sized mirror, Mello debated on whether he could take on another client that day. His ribs were jutting out from the lack of nourishment, and his pale skin would have looked sickly if it wasn't for the light bronzer he used religiously to add a healthy glow. Welts completely covered the back of his thighs and the corners of his mouth still bled a little from the too-tight gag he had worn earlier. His right ass cheek was a vivid shade of purple and red, the flesh still hurting like a bitch. At least the marks on his wrists weren't so bad.

Leaning over to grab his make-up kit, Mello paused to relish the pain, to truly appreciate the damage done to his body. Pain was going to be an important aspect of his life, and he was fully intent on learning to enjoy it. He refused to suffer. Powder and tinted makeup was applied over the worst bruising, paling it considerably, then the bronzer was added to even the tone out somewhat. Dabbing ice cold water to the welts then applying a thin layer of Vicks Vapor Rub, Mello finally applied moisture overall and made the phone call. Thankfully, this client had something a little different in mind.

"Hi, Gabriel!" the middle aged man greeted him cheerfully as he welcomed the blond into the large, expensive house. "Please, call me Matt."

Courteously admiring the décor, Mello shook his head. "How about Andrew?" he replied softly before sending a wicked smile to the man. "You look like an Andrew."

"That's fine," the man agreed as he moved down the hallway. "Would you like to get started right away, or would you like to relax a little and get in the mood?"

"I'm always in the mood," Mello chuckled, carefully measuring his words. He could not sound too cliché or sappy; it would send the wrong message.

Suddenly, another voice was added to the conversation. "Is he here, honey?"

"Yes, dear!" the man called out. Turning to Mello, he gave the boy a wink. "She's already waiting in the room. Always so eager!"

Smiling politely, Mello followed the man upstairs towards the master bedroom. He looked for it, that uncomfortable twisting in his gut, but it never made an appearance. Even as he walked in to see the naked woman working her pussy with a dildo and her clit with a vibrator, he felt nothing. It was his first time with a woman. The husband jerked himself off on the recliner set up in the corner of the bedroom as Mello fucked the wife seven ways from Sunday. The couple loved each other; he could see it in their eyes as they watched each other from across the room. It was also the first time that Mello had seen a man comfortable with such an intrusion on the supposed intimacy of the marriage vows. Granted, this "Andrew" had an extraordinarily small penis and his wife had a hungry pussy. Mello supposed that the husband accepted this part of their relationship in lieu of losing the entire thing.

Being with a woman was difficult, he quickly came to realize. There was no pleasurable assault on his nerves with each thrust, and the overly slickness of her convulsing vagina hardly brought on any stimulation. Honestly, trying to keep up the thrusts with a semi-flaccid cock wasn't working particularly well, and Mello knew that if he couldn't do better than this his pay and reputation would reflect the poor performance. Trying to imagine the sensation of getting his ass fucked hard didn't do any better than the physical stimulation, and he almost began to worry. Then a filthy, dirty voice whispered such an unspeakable thing. Almost immediately his hands clenched the curvy hips more tightly and blood swelled in his nether regions. Laughing blue eyes were looking directly at him in his mind's eye, full lips were moist and begging, scar covered hands were beckoning. Unbidden, a gasp escaped his lips as his orgasm claimed all senses. Snapping back to reality a lot more quickly than he wanted to, Mello nearly sighed in relief when he saw that his client had managed an orgasm as well and was looking up at him in pleasure. Easing out of her body gently, he caressed her face with one hand while using the other to remove the condom.

The overly wealthy couple paid him well for his services and he was on his way to buy dinner. The now-familiar fuzziness at the edges of his vision warned that his passing out from lack of nourishment wasn't too far away. Maybe it was the low blood sugar that caused such a queasy feeling in his stomach as he thought back on his despicable act. No, it wasn't sleeping with another man's wife that bothered him, it was that _face_. The one whose image he had violated for the sake of a couple of hundred bucks.

_A couple of hundred bucks that move me closer to killing Kira._

Swallowing thickly, Mello nodded to himself. He had to do whatever it took to survive. Apparently, he couldn't get it up for a woman, so if he needed to use the internal stimulus of memories, than he would do it. Live or die, that was this world's creed; how one managed that didn't really matter. Looking at the passing reflection, Mello sneered at it. What a fucking ugly, beautiful nightmare he was.

/_/_/_/

Cities came and went. Men, women, and some in between, they all bedded him with the same eager fascination. Ropes, whips, roleplay, vanilla, CBT, it didn't matter; he learned the arts of pleasuring with the same ferocious tenacity stitched into his being by Mr. Wammy's orphanage. Everything was a challenge; it was Near trying to keep him from winning all over again. But sometimes at night, there were moments where it should have become hard for him to see the ends justifying the means. Sometimes, he could feel twitchy hands rubbing his back softly, speaking that despicable French, and whispering words of damned love. He should have looked down at himself in those moments, and hate everything. But he wouldn't lose this time. Hate, he could twist and mold such a feeling, boiling into other emotions like reluctance, _love_, softness, weakness, fear.

It was another lesson of the realities of this world. He would not be allowed the pleasure of keeping that _face_ hidden away in a corner of his heart, because his heart could no longer exist. Instead, his mind ruled with its diamond fist, all sparkling sharp edges; innocence was no longer allowed, so it purposefully defiled memories until they no longer held any semblance of reality. But who would dare deny this new reality? What was reality but the twisted perspective of the mind?

Like a shadow, Mello followed his rich client through the crowd at some ridiculously overpriced party. He wasn't particularly aware of the holidays and couldn't identify the nature of the celebration, but that didn't bother him. For him, this was the perfect opportunity to flaunt his goods and advertise to other rich cretins. Eyes would watch him secretly (or not so secretly) and the pride swelled again. If a young creature like him could so easily capture the attention of some of the most powerful people in any given area with the simple sway of his hips and slant of his cold eyes, who the bloody hell was Kira?

Just as he was basking in the attention, something came up on his internal radar. Another person's presence, one that put his charisma to shame, brushed against his awareness. Flicking the fringe of hair out of his eyes as an excuse to look around, the teen noticed that most of the people's attention was now on a tall woman commanding attention with her vivid red dress and high-heeled pumps. Long, straight blonde hair hung down to her waist even with it being held up in a high ponytail. Shapely calves were taut as they held her pedicured feet still in the painful looking shoes. Poison green eyes took in the crowd coldly, as if her height wasn't the only reason she towered over the rest of them. A pleasant smile was painted a brilliant red to match her attire and even with her pale skin she pulled the look off without looking like a whore.

Mello's client lightly touched his arm and led the boy over to the intimidating woman. "She's the CEO of so-and-so company…heiress to a fortune…ice queen…superiority complex…"

After registering that this woman wasn't competition for him, Mello took only the information he deemed important. She was rich, a bit emotional, and a perfect target for him. Now, to see which way she swung…

"Elizabeth Kenwood," the older man began to introduce, "this here is my escort tonight. His name is Alexander."

The woman looked down her nose not bothering to hide her critical stare. Mello never backed down.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Mello said, emphasizing the masculine title as he stared right up into those stern eyes. She was a single woman in a world of all men who undoubtedly talked down to her with the term ma'am, as if to remind her that she should be off serving other men. Tilt the chin, uplift one corner of lips (just like _he_ used to do), and offer a hand for a handshake.

"Alexander, is it?" she replied, consciously taking the bait. The teen didn't miss the prideful look in her eyes as she relished the title he so quickly offered her. "And what are you doing escorting this old bore around for?" A chuckle was added to the end of her statement to smooth over the insult.

The older man knew where he ranked on the totem pole and played along with the pleasantries, even as his grip on Mello's arm tightened. "He's a dear friend of my family," Mello replied easily. "And why are you here alone?" he jabbed easily, with an extra polite smile. She had a superiority complex which meant that her not having an escort would ruffle her feathers as it would imply that was inferior to all these men.

"I'm alone because I find it difficult to find a man that can even come close in comparison to me," she retorted between tight lips.

"And how is that?" Mello challenged, never breaking eye contact.

Sensing that this conversation would quickly become way over his head, the older man released Mello's arm and stepped back into the crowd to continue socializing.

Instead of responding to the question, Elizabeth took another glance at the businessman before returning eye contact to the shorter and younger man. "Are you his little bought-off bitch?" she whispered smugly. "One that will dress like a princess and suck his fat little dick?"

"No, I wouldn't know what his dick looks like, but you seem to," he replied before narrowing his eyes. "But I can be your bitch. If you can handle me, that is."

"I'll have you know that I'm not tricked so easily into paying some whore money for services," she continued, a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"That's what cowards retort when they want to justify their mundane and sexless lives." Her eyes became livid at the taunt. "And why should I be ashamed to offer my services? There's a need in society for what I offer, and if people are willing to pay me for it why shouldn't I accept? Because of some social norms?" Mello's words were chosen carefully, each honeyed drop meant to sink a claw of control into her psyche. Was he attracted to her? Not in the least. Was he interested? Absolutely.

"Boy, I'm heir to the Kenwood fortunes, and my fraternizing with dirty little used-up whores will not bode well for my image."

"You're right, Ms. Kenwood. You're image of frigid ice queen has definitely put you up there with the big boys." Lucifer lips curled teasingly, his tone no more serious than his host's laughable sky blue suit. "However, the image of you carrying on with a young, beautiful lover would throw you up there with all those other CEOs and their mistresses."

The businesswoman looked completely flabbergasted. She could no longer continue to pretend that this boy was just some bottom-feeding leftover from the slums of town. Taking a moment to better analyze him, she noticed the peculiarly regal way in which he carried his underfed frame. His bone structure was superb, and his skin still seemed as pliant and healthy as a baby's. "How old are you?" she finally gritted out. The last thing she wanted to do was get caught into a child prostitution ring.

"Eighteen. Just turned legal three months ago."

Elizabeth fought to keep her mouth from dropping. "H-how long have you been providing…services?"

Mello allowed a pleasant chuckle. "Ms. Kenwood, I'm not some unfortunate child thrown into the gutters in an effort to survive the cold cruel world. I chose to engage in the glamorous life of an escort as soon as I turned legal." The lies came so easily to him.

Later, Elizabeth Kenwood would wonder how she had been sold the idea of paying for sex so quickly and without much resistance.

/_/_/_/

"Gabriel Vladsky?"

Looking up from the beauty magazine he was perusing, Mello let his eyes fall on the tired looking nurse. Chocolate hair that wasn't held back by a hair band framed her well-shaped face, and green eyes looked at him with a mixture of sadness and anger. Standing up, he easily fell in step behind her.

"Is your name Russian?" she asked conversationally. He could detect the accent in her voice.

"Da."

She looked over at him in surprise. "Kak dolgo vy byli v etoĭ strane?"

Deciding that he wasn't about to tell her the truth, he shrugged. "Neskolʹko let."

The brunette nodded, deciding not to push any further. Instead she flipped through the notes on her clipboard. "So, you're here for your HIV testing?"

"Yes," he replied easily, not bothered by the sad look in her eyes.

"If you're doing this to pay off some guy for bringing you across the ocean, don't." Her tone was sharp and he was surprised by the amount of emotion laced in her words. "There are ways to get out of this. I found them, and you can too."

At first, he wasn't sure how to respond. Should he play ignorant and act offended that she thought he was a slut? Seeing the sincerity in her eyes, the blond decided that there was no point in being cruel. "I have a plan…" he paused to look at her nametag, "…Ms. Gorbachov. I'm not going to get stuck in this world. It's only a stepping stone."

Frowning, she shook her head. "Nakita; you can call me Nakita. Having not been in the business willingly, I'm sure that I could never understand why anyone would ever _choose_ such a path."

Mello sighed. "It's just the truth." For a moment, Nakita stared at him oddly, her hand clutching to the clipboard too tightly. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

"N-no," she mumbled before shaking her head. "It's just that…well, the way you said that reminded me of someone I met a long time ago. But, n-never mind, let's get your blood sample."

After going through the checkup and coming out clean, Mello paused by the counter to grab a handful of free condoms. Looking at the brunette woman as she bustled about to prepare for her next patient, the teen voiced his question. "Who did I remind you of?"

Looking up from the papers with a pale visage, the woman swallowed thickly. "It was someone I met after being brought to this country. His name was **B**oryenka."

After running that name through his memories, Mello decided that he wasn't familiar with whoever this woman had known. "Sorry, I don't know of anyone by that name."

"I didn't think you would…that would be too strange. I spent 12 hours with him, and then never saw him again."

"He must have left quite an impression if you still remember him."

Shuddering, she nodded. How could she ever forget? "Well, come back to the clinic as often as you'd like, even if it's just for the condoms. And when you feel like leaving the business, let me know. I have access to resources that could help you."

Nodding, Mello took the condoms and briskly walked out of the clinic with no intention of coming back.

/_/_/_/

"Lick it, bitch-boy."

Mello prided himself on being able to do anything and everything that the clients could come up with, but this damned woman was intent on absolutely breaking down every ounce of pride he had. Trying not to let his trembling legs collapse under the strain of switching positions, the blond leaned down to lick the black PVC boot he had been commanded to lick. The acrid smell of plastics and latex burned his nose and it took every ounce of will power he possessed not to gag at the terrible taste invading his mouth.

"Do you like licking the mistress's boot?" Elizabeth purred as she pulled the leather cords of her flog taut between her hands.

Wanting nothing more than to shove said boot where the sun wouldn't shine, Mello nodded mutely. His bloody lips were a reminder that he was not given permission to speak during these hours of playtime. A sharp smack to his rear showed her pleasure in his response.

Hooking her boot under the boy's chin, Elizabeth looked down into his unnatural eyes. He was such a pretty thing, blessed with looks that had evaded her until well past her teenage years. This boy infuriated her just as much as he enticed her, and it was such a pleasant combination. The once flawless skin was marred with bruises, welts, and other marks provided by her skill. Hardened red wax clung to his thin figure, and the leather bands binding his hands behind his back and his thighs to his calves looked so very good on him.

"You wear leather well," she complimented as she set down the flog and moved to grab her strap-on. "Today I don't feel like riding on your cock, so we'll change it a bit. Put your face in the floor and stick your ass up."

Gritting his teeth, Mello struggled to obey the command. It was difficult to get into such a position without the use of his hands, and the last thing he wanted was a broken nose. Such a disfigurement could mean a loss of potential profit. Wincing at the pain from his cramping feet, he finally managed the position. The cold cement of the basement floor soothed his stinging cheek. The sharp pain of the dildo being worked into his body without any lubrication made it difficult to remain dispassionate.

"This position fits you," the older woman sighed pleasurably as each thrust from her hips caused the built-in vibrator to tease her clit in just the right way. "You're such a little whore." The comment was accentuated with a slap to the exposed rear. Sensing his increasing discomfort, Elizabeth poured an ample amount of lubrication at their joining without slowing down her tempo. Each thrust smeared the cool liquid across the sexual toy. Running her fingers across the sweating skin, the woman felt herself shiver in more pleasure. "Little slut, you love getting your ass stretched, don't you?" Another slap. The pleasurable shudder ran through her body as she felt the orgasm wash through. The orgasm wasn't as strong as when she let the young man penetrate her, but it was pleasant enough. "Alright, our time is up."

Cold fingers worked off the bindings, leaving Mello to sigh in relief. He was just the slave to her whims so getting off was not a requirement. Looking down at his flaccid cock, he wasn't surprised. Elizabeth was terrible about not hitting his prostate and without that feeling he just couldn't get it up. "When do you want me to come back?" he croaked, his throat raw from the brutal blow jobs he had to provide to her slew of plastic dongs.

"Next week will suffice," she answered as she peeled off the dominatrix gear and handed him his soft cotton shirt and lace-up jeans. "You can stay for an hour or so if you want to so that you can stretch out those muscles. They must be cramping by now."

Nodding, Mello limped his way through the house, a step behind her. Outside of their usual dom/sub play, she had become quite affectionate towards him. Grabbing a heating pad, she wordlessly handed it to him and then led him to the sparsely decorated living room. A few family pictures hung awkwardly on the walls. Groaning softly as he took a seat on the cushioned couch, Mello applied the heating pad to his backside and cranked up the heat as Elizabeth plugged the device into an outlet.

"So, I noticed that you have been trying to call more attention to yourself lately," she started off as she took a seat across from him.

"I need more clients," Mello responded as he allowed his eyes to fall shut. "And with you walking next to me, it's been difficult."

"It's because your glamor is too weak."

Cracking an eye open to stare at her, he tilted his head. "My what?"

"Okay, think about this. How are stage actors supposed to get across their message to a huge crowd? Those in the back of the theater can hardly see them, especially their expressive faces, so how is it that the successful ones can make everyone in the audience feel the passion of the play and the unsuccessful ones can't? What's the difference?"

"Their presence, I suppose."

"It's more than their presence. In fact, it's a special something that I call glamor." Adjusting herself to get more comfortable on the love seat, she leaned her cheek on the armrest and kept her eyes locked on the boy. "At the risk of sounding all supernatural and shit, I believe that all people have natural auras surrounding them. Now, whether those auras are made up on electromagnetic energy or not, I don't know or care. What I do know is that this aura can be controlled at will. Martial arts masters are well known for this. They can use their aura to hide their overwhelming strength from others."

"I'm following you," Mello mumbled as she waited for his affirmation. "That's why most masters are hard to pick out if you're not aware that they are purposefully hiding their power."

"Correct. Now, one can also consciously flaunt their glamour to attract attention."

"And who taught you about this 'glamour' thing?" he mumbled as he looked at the surrounding photos. An ordinary family photo showed two stern looking parents, a boy, and two girls.

"I learned it by watching my little sister," she mumbled. "Mary was a natural, and was always the most popular." Sensing that she needed to vent and didn't particularly care for what he thought, Mello allowed his eyes to close again and his head to fall back on the neck-rest. "You see, my older brother would naturally inherit my father's multi-billion dollar corporation. He's athletic, good-looking, married to the perfect woman, and a level-headed, competent businessman.

"My younger twin sister was the baby. She was encouraged to do whatever she wanted, and being the most beautiful out of us children, she was lavished with anything her selfish little heart desired. Cars, clothes, trips to Europe; anything and everything. Since it was offered, Mary felt like she was entitled to take it all and more. Our parents absolutely doted on her and constantly praised her wild spirit and adventurous feats. I think my mother cried in joy when Mary won her first motorcycle race. I don't think that we knew about half the stuff she got herself involved with, but she always made our parents happy.

"Me? I was the unlucky one. Born completely normal, with no special gifts and no special looks. My parents tolerated me as best as they could. They bought plenty of clothes to try to cover my ever-expanding waistline, they hired private tutors to help me keep up with rigorous classwork, and they even bought me a little puppy to keep me company while everyone else in the house was out _doing_ stuff. And now I have my own company, I'm good-looking, and I'm finally worth being proud of."

"If you're brother's the oldest child, how are you an heiress to anything?" Mello asked merely out of curiosity.

"All three of us children were written into the will to receive their fortunes. George would inherit the company and a few manors, while Mary and I would inherit the rest of the estate. But, now that Mary's dead I inherit it all."

Raising an eyebrow, the teen glanced at her from his awkward position. "Died?"

"No, I did _not_ kill her for the money," Elizabeth sighed. "She died in a motorcycle accident."

"Suuurreeeee," Mello drawled, bringing a smile to the woman's face.

/_/_/_/

Los Angeles, the beautiful. Taking a deep breath of the smoggy afternoon air, Mello held it for a moment just like one would hold cigarette smoke to absorb as much nicotine as possible. This was the city where a certain Dwight Gordon made his territory. After months of research and hunting, he had finally found a suitable mafia group to infiltrate. Dwight, better known as Rod Ross, was a small-time drugs and weapons middle-man who had successfully kept his turf for over twenty years. His group was small and close-knit, and they already had some hefty contacts. The only obstacle keeping Rod from expanding further into the greater L.A. area was another underground criminal whose only known information was an alias. "Johnny Boy" was living large and was so protected that even Kira had not been able to kill him off like most of the other well-known mafia big shots.

The plan was simple enough. Hunt down Johnny, kill him, take proof to Rod, enter Rod's gang, and then get to Kira.

Hefting his duffle bag over a shoulder, Mello immediately made his way to the back alleys of the city. A run-down motel gave him a good price for a month's stay, especially when paid in cash, and he proceeded to memorize the city's map and photos of different parts of the city. In order to find Johnny, he needed to find out where the gangster's haunts were. Outlining Johnny's turf with a red pen, Mello began the laborious task of trying to hunt down the elusive criminal.

/_/_/_/

Mello vaguely wondered if he was attracted to blondes because of his currently black hair. Did he miss his natural hair color that much? Was he projecting his wants by picking up and attracting tough blonde females? These thoughts barely had time to race across his cortex as he pleasured the woman under him.

This particular woman was found drunkenly stumbling out of some bar. He was merely going to ignore her as he did all other drunks, but a couple of sexually repressed idiots thought that they would be able to get some free nookie. Before he had a chance to step in and kick their asses, he was treated to the sight of this drunken woman beating the crap out of them. For the first time in his life, Mello felt his cock stir for an individual of the opposite sex, so he decided to take the opportunity to explore.

Her driver's license read "Halle Bullook" and she provided him an interesting experience. Almost platinum blond hair, milky skin, and feral eyes the golden color of a lion's were an exotic and aesthetically pleasing combination. Obviously experience in bed, she provoked him into bruisingly fast-paced sex. Alcohol-saturated lips claimed his and teased him into domination. Legs of iron nearly crushed his hip bones as she reached orgasm, and with a shudder he released his seed into the condom.

"S-so," he panted, "where did you learn moves like that?"

Her chuckle sent comfortable little jolts up his spine. "You're asking about my other bed partners?"

Blushing as he realized that his question had sounded exactly that way, he shook his head. "No, I meant your martial art moves. You know, the ones you used to beat those guys up."

Pulling him into another heated kiss, she pushed up to rub against his flaccid cock as a signal that she was ready for another round. "I learned a little here and there." An encouraging moan rewarded Mello as he delved into her again with a brand new condom in place. "I like learning."

By the time he left her hotel room, Mello had not only managed to forget to ask for payment, but he also had her number securely tucked into his jacket's pocket.

/_/_/_/

No amount of Systema training could have prepared Mello for a brick to the back of the head.

Pain exploded like a series of fireworks and his vision immediately went black before going in and out stutteringly. There was a kick to his stomach and a fragile rib cracked. More pain exploded on his face, but he couldn't tell what exactly was happening. As far as he knew, his own limbs were flailing out, struggling to strike back, but the only thing he could feel was the strikes falling on his own body.

Rod Ross had been called a great many things, but he could honestly say that "compassionate" was not one of them. With over thirty years of criminal service, several of those being behind bars, Rod prided himself on his little empire of depravity. But, a part of keeping his small empire free from intruding gangs was a rigorous protection of what he owned. That included a young whore getting the shit kicked out of her. The disturbing scene could be seen from the window of his vehicle as they were headed off to enjoy a night at his best strip club. Neither of the two men who were currently pulling their dicks out of their pants drew any familiarity from his memory banks, so he signaled for Rashual and Glen to take care of the problem.

"Boss!" Rashual called as he wiped the blood from his knuckles with the back of his shirt. "You might want to look at this."

Stepping out his car with an irritated grunt, the large, muscular man moved towards his men. "Yeah, what is it?" He really wanted to get to the club soon.

"We don't have any male hookers on our streets, do we?" The dark-haired man asked as he pointed to the unconscious figure on the ground. With pants having been shoved down to the knees, it was obvious that the individual Rod had originally thought was one of his hookers was indeed a boy. A skinny boy, but his arms were clear of any marks that would indicate drug use.

"Fuck, he was just a civilian?" Rod mumbled. There was some blood staining the pitch-black hair, and he felt himself sigh. "I guess we should just leave him for the police to handle."

The boy's eyes flickered for a moment, confusion in his expression as he looked up at the hardened criminal. His hand reached up to grab at the boss, but then dropped heavily as unconsciousness swallowed him up once more. Rod took a step back as the gesture caught him off guard. His mind flashed back to his three-year-old son begging to be picked up by "Papa". His son would have been thirteen.

"Boss?" Glen asked, his beady eyes noticing Rod's strange expression. "Do you want us to leave?"

"Damn it," he hissed as he stepped forward and lifted the boy up. "Pull up his pants, Glen, and let's get going."

/_/_/_/

Waking up to the pounding beats of stripper music was definitely not what Mello was expecting when he finally got some brain synapses to start firing. Ice packs were wrapped against his ribs, tucked under his bandaged head, and slapped against his swelling cheek.

"Sweetie? Are you okay?" Glancing to his right he saw a young woman with a bathrobe secured around her lithe body. Dark roots were showing under her dyed blond hair and too-thick lipstick shone against her plump lips.

"Y-yeah," he groaned as he sat up. His vision swam for a moment as his body made the necessary adjustments. "Where am I?"

"You're at Rod's place, Hot Stuff."

Mello's head snapped up faster than was comfortable and his heart was pounding. "Rod? Rod Ross?"

"Yeah!" she said too cheerily. "He brought you in all fucked up and told us to take care of you."

Allowing the new information to soak in, Mello took a look at his surroundings. Based on the fact that there were costumes lined up against the walls and a large number of undergarments strewn about, he assumed that he was in the changing room for the establishment. It was small and clean, if a bit on the messy side. "Does Rod do this often to you?"

The girl shook her head and laughed. "At first, we thought that he had roughed up one of his whores a bit too much, but then we found out you were a boy!"

Dabbing his swollen cheek with the icepack, Mello felt it wasn't an issue worth getting upset with, especially if this girl had constant contact with Rod. The mafia boss did not need to know about his temper yet. "I think that I'll take that as a compliment."

The girl's smile brightened considerably. "So, where are you from?"

"Actually, I just got to L.A.," Mello replied immediately. "I was on my way to a job interview when I got jumped."

"Aw, that's too bad! Where were you getting an interview?"

Immediately, his mind reeled through the strip clubs that he had gathered info on. "Fantasy Club," he replied with a straight face. It was a club that catered to the bisexual crowd and was most importantly _not _on Rod's turf. "I was a little lost," he added before she questioned him on being on the wrong side of the town.

"Oh, so you know how to dance?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm actually pretty good at it." Lies, more lies.

Applause could be heard through the walls as the music paused. "If you weren't a guy, I'd say that you would probably like working here. Rod keeps us safe, and all the patrons here pay well to their favorites."

At that moment, an older man stepped into the changing room, wiping his sweaty forehead with a crinkled handkerchief. "You're awake?"

"He's looking for a job, Carlos," the fake blond supplied immediately.

Raising an eyebrow, Mello wondered how someone as old and white had managed to get the name "Carlos".

"Brittani, I trust that you didn't talk his ear off?"

"Is there any kind of position we can get him?"

Frowning, the man shook his head. "The only way would be bartending, but we've already got a trusted guy. Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about that. Kid, I just wanted to know if you felt good enough to leave."

"No chance; I don't think I could walk half a block without passing out again. My head's pretty fucked up." This was an interesting opportunity, and he didn't have any intention of losing it.

Sighing in resignation, Carlos nodded. "Rod said not to kick you out until you felt better, so I guess that I'll have to find something for you to do. For now, just stay out of the way of the girls. Brittani, set up a cot for him and then get ready to go out there."

"Yes, sir!"

/_/_/_/

Living at a strip club that served dinner with the show had its advantages. During the day, everything was mostly quiet and peaceful. Girls would clean up any messes, cooks would prepare for the next performance, and other girls would practice their routines on the various poles. Being his curious self, Mello watched the different routines with a critical eye, measuring the different techniques and figuring the different muscle groups that would need to be developed to pull them off.

Pole dancing had never really caught his attention, and his brain had registered it as nothing more than cheap entertainment, but after a few nights of observations, Mello felt differently. There were the girls who treated the dancing as an art form, pacing carefully to reflect the music, their bodies morphing into lyrics, their emotions pouring through their performances. Then there were the smart girls. These girls would understand that how they felt about the dance didn't matter in the least bit, only how much money they could squeeze out of the audience did. Taking cues from the body language of the men, these women would do whatever it took to make that extra dollar; the only beat they danced to was that of money being slapped onto the stage.

Keeping out of the owner's radar was fairly easy, so Mello hung around the establishment far longer than was probably intended. Offering up his charming smiles and well-placed compliments, the entire staff of the club found themselves enjoying his company. Free food nourished his frail body, the friendly bartender taught him the art of good bartending, and the girls were more than eager to keep talking.

Weeding through the sob stories, and angry feminist ranting, Mello occasionally found useful information about Rod's operations and connections. There were things that he couldn't find on the internet, and these girls were more than eager to share those tasty tidbits in exchange for him agreeing that Joe Blow was an awful person and that she was a beautiful woman who could accomplish anything with her life. A few pats on the head, a few encouraging hugs, and he was several steps closer to making his move.

In fact, life became so much easier when the bartender was found dead in an alley and the only one who could fill the position in quickly was a certain live-in stranger.

/_/_/_/

Sitting in the internet café, Mello leaned back in his chair and let out a slow, deep breath. His eyes were undoubtedly bloodshot and his fingers were practically raw from typing so much. This Johnny Boy was a ghost; there were no plausible speculations on his real name, age, or ethnicity. Obviously, a forty-something-year-old 6 foot white male was the default suspect and that's what the law enforcement agencies were sticking with. There had been no real evidence to the contrary. All they knew was that he had moved into L.A. about eight years ago and since then had been growing his empire steadily, like a cancer gaining momentum.

Pulling the fashionable glasses frames from their perch on his face, his thin hand rubbed the reddening indentions. He hated wearing the frames and he hated the hot and itchy brunette wig, but his comfort ranked pretty low on the totem pole when considered next to the importance of keeping his face a secret. While the mafia wars in the USA were quite interesting, he was always keeping an eye on the real goal; Johnny Boy was nothing but a stepping stone whose sole purpose was to put him in a position to take down Kira. Considering that in the States people were being caught on cameras nearly 24/7, as long as he remained disguised and blended in, everything would be fine.

Settling the frames back on his nose, Mello felt his eyes being drawn to a cold-case police case. Almost dream-like, his hand guided the mouse to the file and a slew of information passed before his eyes. Like something out of a horror movie, pictures and reports of dismembered body parts belonging to affluent businessmen being shipped to abandoned warehouses danced through his cortex. Numerous theories floated around, but without any leads, the case stagnated.

As best as the investigators could figure, there was an underground gladiator-esque fighting circuit called the "Games" and the murdered businessmen had been investors in the brutality. Unsure of why he was still reading about a case that had nothing to do with the L.A. mafia or Kira, Mello glided into a document that speculated on a list of "players" residing in the personal files of a few of those dead investors. There hadn't been enough support for the theory to gain legal access to those files, so no further actions could be taken.

Shrugging, the teen delved into accessing those files in a more unconventional manner. Since the case had really reached its peak a couple of years ago, there didn't seem to be any new protections surrounding the personal files of those dead men. Chuckling at the simplicity of hacking into those files, Mello barely spared a thought to the fact that _he_ could have done this job blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back. Not quite that good yet, Mello settled for taking his time to ensure that he didn't leave any traces of his invasion.

Once that was completed, he began the arduous task of going through the different files in search of one of those lists of players. Turquoise eyes scanned back and forth across the screen

It was buried in an Excel file that kept track of winnings and losses that Mello found the information he was looking for. Frowning, the teen scrolled through lists of countless names, most of them showing little to no profit. Those men barely garnered mention in the document, and from the way he read the document, most of those men failed to survive their first rounds.

Deciding that the losers were bogging him down in his search for…something…Mello reorganized the spreadsheet to show only players that made substantial profits. With a final click, he found himself staring at a name that sent a chill through his body. **B**orjenka was a player that cost nothing and brought in hefty prize money for a few years. The profits ended in the same year that the murders took place and the Games ended. Only a few other players had a similar track record, and one was able to bring a smile to the thin, cold lips.

It looked like hubris would be the fault that would take this Johnny Boy down.

/_/_/_/

Flipping a bottle of Bacardi easily in his hand and pouring it into the client's shot glass, Mello allowed his eyes to wander across the crowd before settling on one particular man. The large man had skin the color of freshly ground coffee beans and his bald head gleamed with sweat under the strobe lights. Massive muscles wrapped his frame tightly, and yet he seemed comfortable in his two-piece suit. This man was a regular customer at Hot Stuff and this made Mello chuckle. Hubris indeed would be the downfall of Johnny Boy.

Having taken control of the majority of the L.A. crime world, Johnny Boy couldn't help but mock his biggest competitor. What better way to do this than to frequent the enemy's biggest club and yet never get caught? Brittani moved closer to the dark man, giggling stupidly as his massive hand fondled her rear end. The plan had taken only three days to come up with and took three weeks to prepare for. It wasn't enough to get rid of the mafia leader, Mello needed to be able to take credit for it as well as get Rod Ross to accept him as a member.

So, he had taken it upon himself to spread dissent among the different factions being controlled by Johnny Boy. Posing as a new drug dealer with loose lips, Mello was sure that the little lies he whispered in the dark were being heard by too eager men looking for an opportunity to oust their competitors. If Johnny Boy wasn't there to keep a solid grip on the organization, they would certainly fall to civil war leaving themselves vulnerable to Rod Ross's mafia.

Seeing those dark fingers slip under Brittani's boy-shorts, the teen nodded to himself. Tonight he would make his move. Slipping from behind the bar as all the eyes were on the woman spreading her legs completely as she hung upside down from the pole, Mello made his way to the hotel room where Johnny Boy had reserved a room for the night. Breaking into the room was laughably easy, and as he began to dress up, the Slovene pretended to feel regret towards his actions. He had killed only once before, and that man had been far from innocent. This act would be irreversible, much like the prostitution had been.

Cherry red lipstick was smeared across his lips carefully, a blond wig was settled onto his skull, and a skimpy get-up added the final touch. In the bathroom, cloth to wipe away finger prints, bleach, and trash bags consisted of the clean-up kit. Under the pillow, a knife was prepared to carry out its sole duty.

Of course, Brittani came to the room first, fully intent on preening for another night with her generous patron. She didn't have time to scream as Mello crushed her windpipe before snapping her neck with a sharp jerk. Hauling the body into the bathtub, he then took his place on the bed, allowing his body to fall into a naturally seductive pose that would also keep his junk from being observed too quickly. Adrenaline kicked into his system, guaranteeing that his reflexes would be top-notch for this job.

Precisely on time, Johnny Boy stepped into the room, his swagger confident and his smile reflecting the moonlight. Moving straight for the bed to ravage his "woman" the mafia boss was completely blindsided when his brutally needy kiss was met with a burning pain in his side. The poisonous mouth didn't taste the same, those blue eyes glinted with the hardness of ice, and the hand on the back of his neck was too strong.

Biting down firmly on the tongue that had invaded his mouth, Mello pushed more deeply into the kiss to keep the man's dying sounds muted. It wouldn't do to have the entire hotel knowing that a murder was transpiring. With his free hand, he plunged the knife back into the man's gaping side, this time hitting its target, the lung. The man's large hand took hold of Mello's wig, trying to pry him off, but the pain of teeth digging into his tongue froze the man. His other hand managed a weak punch to the teen's kidney, but another thrust of the knife paralyzed the man. Years away from participating in the Games had softened his survival instinct, his pride had blinded his paranoia, and for a few torturous minutes as he struggled to keep alive, Johnny Boy was left with the memories of his completely meaningless life. Dying, alone, and with a blond stranger content to let him asphyxiate during the kiss.

At the end, he was frightened. A grisly creature hung over the boy, blood red eyes dancing and its voice a cackle of horror.

Stepping back from the body, Mello wrinkled his nose in disgust. In death, the man had released his bladder and bowels, soiling his expensive suit. Licking the blood from his lips, the teen began his laborious task of beheading the body with nothing more than his hunting knife. Prying the blade between the vertebrate at the base of the skull, he twisted the sharp metal and manhandled it until with a sickening crack, the bones separated. Cutting through tissue proved to be much easier.

Hauling the dismembered head away from its body, Mello quickly stuffed it into one of his trash bags before repeating the procedure on Brittani. He knew her name, she had cared for him, and yet his hands moved with all the efficiency of a butcher. Her head was placed in a separate bag, and with that accomplished, the teen moved to complete the rest of his task. Everything was wiped down, including the bodies; then, they were both placed on the bed in odd positions. Surely the police would begin to overthink things and come up with some ludicrous explanation. Next, he reorganized the room to accomplish the same thing. Bleach ensured that the room was clean and that stray DNA was destroyed.

Grinning, Mello hauled the bags over his shoulder and dropped out of the window, silently creeping through the night.

/_/_/_/

Staring at the boy sitting too calmly in front of him, Rod Ross wasn't sure what he was going to do. At the moment, he settled for merely observing the teen. Blond peach fuzz covered the shapely head, evidence of a recent buzz cut. No eyebrows to speak of, unusual eyes were widened unnaturally, skin was pallid, thin lips stretched out in a comfortable smirk. Everything about this kid struck him as odd, bizarre even. Who in their right mind would walk straight up to the front door of his hideout claiming that he was going to make the boss a powerful man?

"Who are you?" he finally ventured, his eyes briefly glancing at the backpack that was sitting unassumingly next to the boy. If it wasn't for the blood seeping out of the bottom of it and puddling on the floor, he could almost assume it was simply a school bag.

"I'm the man who's going to make you the boss to the largest mafia ring this side of the Pacific Ocean."

Snorting, Rod couldn't pretend that this underfed child was anything close to a man. "What's in the bag?" Apparently, it had been something worth passing through his underlings and going straight to him.

Glancing at the backpack, the boy shrugged. "Johnny Boy." He spoke the words easily, almost as an afterthought. "His head, at least."

Swallowing thickly at the disturbing words, Rod returned to observing the boy. There was something definitely off with him; maybe it was in the cold smirk, or even the demented eyes. Regardless, it unsettled him. "No one knows who Johnny Boy really is, punk. For all I know, you just brought in the head of some worthless junkie from the backstreets."

Again, the boy seemed completely unfazed. "I'm not asking you to take my word for it, Rod."

"How so?"

"I understand that a head alone means nothing to you, so I'm prepared to remain under your watch for the next two weeks. You see, two weeks should be plenty of time for you to witness the complete collapse of your biggest rival's gang. His underlings will be killing each other off, all vying for control of the empire. All you have to do is step in and not screw up, and the entire territory will be yours. Drugs, prostitution, weapons, everything."

"You're a fucking liar," Rod sneered. He didn't need some punkass trash waltzing through his hideout talking crap to him, especially such unbelievable crap. He had been in the gang business for more years than he would like to admit, and he was no fool. Things like this would never happen.

"I wouldn't say such ugly things," the boy purred dangerously. "You see, I found your little 'hideout' without bothering to break a sweat. I found out the identity of Johnny Boy with a little more effort, and now I've orchestrated your takeover. I've done all the real work; all you have to do is sit back for two measly weeks and watch events unfold. If things don't go down the way I said they would, then you'd know that I was a liar and you could kill me."

"You could be a spy for that good-for-nothing Johnny."

Holding up two fingers, the boy smirked. "Two weeks."

Intrigued, Rod Ross sat back in his chair. Years of his life had been spent rotting in this underworld, so what was two more weeks? If the boy was lying, it would be nothing to putting a bullet into the back of his skull. However, if he _was_ telling the truth…

"Why would you come to me?" he asked a little more stiffly. "If you're as good as you say, then why not work for Johnny Boy instead? Why kill him?"

Tilting his head a little as if he hadn't thought about it before, the blond shrugged. "I've always wanted to kill off the number one man, just to prove that he's nothing but the fucking dirt on my boots. Call it a whim, if you wish."

With a snap of his fingers, Rashual stepped into the room. "Hey, take this kid out of here. Keep him in one of the rooms."

"The name's Mello," the boy spat distastefully as he stood from his chair. Leaning down, he flipped open the backpack and in one swift motion tossed the bloody head onto the desktop in front of the large mafia head. "I'm not a 'kid'."

/_/_/_/

Licking the edge of his bar of chocolate, Mello watched in barely contained amusement as the man in front of him trembled like a dried leaf in the unforgiving autumn wind. Rod was leaning back in his seat, watching the scene unfold with an amused curl of his lip. The other nimwits were standing back, carefully watching.

After having demanded a position as no less than Rod's personal advisor, Mello had taken it upon himself to prove his worth to the organization time and time again. After cleaning up their "damn Godfather-like" structure, he had been able to move them from a Hollywood-esque criminal organization to something far more efficient and deadly. All drugs, weapons, and humans being trafficked through Los Angeles had to have their blessing, or one would end up just like the man trembling before the teenager.

The teen's crucifix shone brightly under the glaring fluorescent flickering overhead. Seeing this, the man began to plead for his life, invoking the names of random saints in an attempt to delay the inevitable. Annoyed with the foolish man's tactics, Mello landed a swift kick to the man's collar bone and sent him reeling back a few feet. Leather glistened dangerously, and the boot took its place back on the ground with a soft fwump.

"Shut up, pig."

"B-b-but I have a family!" he pleaded, the tears and snot streaming down his face. "My d-daughter, she n-needs the medicine!"

No mercy or pity painted the eyes of the possessed boy. "You should have thought about that before trying to send through the drugs without giving us our due." Slipping the gun out of the front of his leather pants, Mello took aim. Before the man could try to make a run for it, the trigger was pulled and the brain matter had painted the back wall.

CRACK

Another piece of chocolate, torn from its fellow blocks met its demise at the hands of those wicked teeth. A tongue soothed its anguish, seducing it into nothing more than a puddle of pleasure.

Motioning for the other men to clean up, Mello set down his revolver in favor of handling his vibrating cellular phone. Flicking it open with a well-practiced jerk of his wrist, he leaned in to listen to an all-too familiar voice.

"Hey, I'm in town, Mello. Wanna hook up?"

Grinning, he responded with a voice made more velvety by the copious amount of cocoa consumed. "Sure thing, Halle. Where're you staying?"

* * *

**Author's notes: Mello and Nakita's conversation translation:**

"_Is your name Russian?" [Nakita] asked conversationally. He could detect the accent in her voice._

"_**Yes."**_

_She looked over at him in surprise. **"****How ****long ****have ****you ****been ****in ****this ****country?****"**_

_Deciding that he wasn't about to tell her the truth, he shrugged. **"****A**** few ****years.****"**_

**Also, I wondered if anyone noticed that the Kenwood heirs were all named after British monarchs: Bloody Mary, Queen Elizabeth, and King George. Completely intentional and adds a different dimension when you think about those particular monarchs and how they interacted with others. Oh, and a reminder: Mary Kenwood = Wedy. **

**Finally, I wonder if anyone else noticed that Rod Ross's real first name was spelled two different ways. It was spelled "Dwight" in the manga, and then "Dwhite" in the 13th book (which I think was just a typo). I am easily amused by such discoveries.**

**Next up: Matt!**


End file.
